#vipersunion

Characters:

Ethan Wilson-Keene – central figure (the survivor)

Talia Walker ( @vipersunion ) – central figure (the survivor)

Terry Silver ( @opponentcompel / @valleykarate ) – phantom adversary (the orchestrator)

Ezra Nephus ( @immortal1ty ) – phantom adversary (the manipulator)

Allison Argent ( @taughtwrath ) – phantom adversary (the executioner)

Robby Keene – a ghost of fear & grief, serving as a haunting reminder of what Ethan is terrified of losing (the dead)

synopsis: ethan & talia have been missing for weeks, hunted like animals through the endless stretch of woods after barely escaping their captors. tortured, broken, & running on nothing but sheer willpower, they have no choice but to keep moving—because the hunters tracking them are real, their bullets are real, & the next mistake they make could be their last.

but the nightmare isn’t just in the chase. somewhere along the way, a hex was placed on them, tangling their minds together in a cruel, shared hallucination that blurs the line between reality & delusion. exhaustion makes it impossible to fight against, leaving them trapped in a waking dream where familiar ghosts whisper from the trees, their voices dripping with malice.

talia sees ezra—her ex-boyfriend, the warlock who once had her addicted to his blood, who wormed his way into her life & tore it apart from the inside. he moves through the forest like a shadow, taunting her, his presence as suffocating as it was when she was under his spell.

ethan sees allison, her bow raised, her aim perfect. the ghost of a girl who once stood for something righteous now lurks in the dark, her arrows pointed at the people ethan loves. but the worst part isn’t the way she smirks when she looses her shot—it’s who she’s aiming at.

then there’s silver, the voice behind it all. the puppeteer pulling the strings of their delusions, whispering commands like they’re still his to control.

they stumble through the undergrowth, trying to tell themselves none of it is real, but it’s getting harder to believe when the hallucinations keep bleeding into reality.

talia: (hollow, distant) "what if the pack doesn’t find us?"ethan: (gritted teeth) "stop. don’t think about that."talia: (flat) "maybe they’re not even looking."ethan: (sharper than he means to be) "they’re looking."talia: (voice wavering) "if they were looking, they would’ve found us by now."ethan: (firmly) "we’re gonna be fine."talia: (disbelieving) "yeah? you sure? ‘cause last time i checked, it’s been weeks, ethan. weeks."ethan: (shaking, desperate to hold on) "we just have to keep going. they’ll find us soon."talia: (quietly) "what about silver & allison?"ethan: (tensely, icily) "i can fucking handle them both."talia: (pressing) "can you?"ethan: (jaw clenched) "i’ve made it this goddamn far, haven’t i? what about you with ezra?"

a voice cuts through the trees, cold & commanding.

allison: (from nearby) "targets are in range."ezra: (mocking, smug) "sir, permission to fire?"silver: (calm, cruel) "granted, soldiers. fire at will."

talia turns her head, & there they are—ezra, allison, & silver, standing just beyond the trees, watching. waiting. her heart pounds in her chest, panic rising in her throat. she sees them—sees ezra lift his gun, sees allison nock an arrow, sees silver’s cold eyes watching from the shadows.

talia: (whispering, fearful) "ethan..."

a shot rings out.

the impact sends ethan crashing to the forest floor, blood blooming across his chest like a spreading wound of fire. his breathing falters. his fingers twitch. his gaze locks onto talia’s—confused, desperate, like he’s trying to understand what just happened.

then his body stills, blood staining his shirt, his eyes wide open & unseeing.

talia freezes.

talia: (screaming) "no!"

but the hallucinations don’t stop there.

bonus: ethan’s hallucination of robby dying in front of him, killed by allison, a nightmare born from his deepest fears

across the clearing, ethan watches in horror as allison turns, bow drawn, & this time, the arrow isn’t aimed at him—it’s aimed at robby.

his breath catches.

the string releases.

the arrow flies.

robby crumples to the ground.

satisfied with her kill, allison smiles.

ethan stumbles forward, the world twisting, the hallucination wrapping its hands around his throat, & his voice breaks as he barely chokes out the only name that matters.

ethan: (softly, shattered) "...robby?"

you don’t remember getting to the hallway.

one second, you're watching robby fall—the way his leg twisted underneath him, the sound of something snapping where it shouldn’t—& the next, you’re in motion. you don’t remember sam’s reaction. don’t remember if you yelled. just moved, like instinct took the wheel & didn’t stop to ask if you were ready.

silver looked satisfied.

that’s the part you can’t forget.

he didn’t blink. didn’t flinch. just watched the fallout like it was always part of the plan.

sensei wolf—the iron dragons shifu—stood behind him, unreadable. zara, their female captain, looked pleased. cold. like this wasn’t a fight. it was a message.

the match was over. robby was already down, already hurt—& silver watched.

your body lit up.

you don’t remember throwing yourself at silver, or maybe wolf—whoever was closest, whoever wasn’t running from what they caused—only that wade caught you mid-sprint with a full-body tackle, nearly knocking the wind out of you, & vanessa shoved you back so hard it cracked the tension in your spine.

you fought them. tooth & nail. like your body didn’t know the difference between enemy & family anymore. your mom's voice cut through the fog, but you barely heard it. everyone else was noise. even chozen grabbing miguel from the edge of the mat. even tory, who nearly tore her own throat screaming.

all you wanted to do was get to axel or wolf or silver. to end him. to make it right in the only language that had been screaming at you—the only language the other versions of you give into whenever robby's hurt—violence.

but now you’re here in the backstage hallway. concrete under your bare feet, sterile arena paint on the walls. robby’s behind a closed door. & you—

you don’t feel real.

your hands shake. your skin buzzes like it’s peeling itself away from your body. the wall next to you is solid, but when you press your palm to it, it blackens instantly.

not fire. not heat. decay.

the hallway flickers. light shudders in the ceiling like it's glitching.

you’re unraveling. again.

you drag a breath in through your teeth. bad idea. your lungs clench up instead of opening. there’s no oxygen. just that sick taste in your mouth—like blood & metal & memories you thought you buried in barcelona.

you see him again.

robby.

his hand on your arm, shaking. his voice gone. his leg bent wrong. & his eyes—

he looked at you like it was okay. like he wasn’t in pain. like he was more worried about you.

like he was trying to protect you.

the crack in your chest doesn’t open—it splinters. the shrapnel is sharp, crooked. & brutal.

your fist slams into the wall before you can stop it. it sinks deep.

the concrete groans under your hand. craters like paper. your knuckles split. you feel the heat rise from your skin, but the pain doesn’t register. you feel nothing.

that’s what scares you.

because this doesn’t feel like sadness. it feels like relapse.

like you’re back in that locker room in barcelona with kreese whispering in your ear: "emotion is a leash. break it."

"you don’t need them. you never did."

"he’s a weakness you keep choosing."

you press your forehead against the wall. dig your nails into your palms. you're trying to stay. trying not to let this swallow you whole. but you’re fraying too fast & your vision’s starting to tilt & you swear if you close your eyes, the entire arena is going to burn.

you’re going to lose control.

you’re going to lose him.

another breath. another hit.

this time, your hand sinks in deeper. blood trails down your wrist, painting the wall in streaks. the air warps around you—heavy, wrong, thick with static. like your eldritch nature is clawing its way outward, demanding to punish something. anything.

you want axel dead.

you want the mat burned.

you want the universe to feel what you’re feeling—because this much pain should never be quiet.

but you can’t do any of that.

you weren’t fast enough to stop it.

& now robby’s gone. not gone gone, but gone enough—gone into that room behind that door, & you weren’t strong enough to stop him from getting hurt.

you failed him.

again.

you grit your teeth. your jaw aches from clenching too hard. your eyes sting—not from tears. you wish it were tears. but it’s not that clean. it’s some broken thing underneath your ribs trying to get out & not knowing how.

meanwhile, somewhere out in the stands, henry & harper had been watching. their friends, their found family, their aunts & uncles had all been with them—keeping them close. when it happened, when robby went down & the room erupted & everyone heard his screams of pain, harper panicked. henry screamed.

seth shielded harper with his entire body. gracelyn threw herself in front of henry. their arms went up like second nature. protective. desperate. they didn’t let the kids see what happened next.

& you didn’t see them either.

you weren’t even aware of the screaming.

then you feel arms move around you. no words. no warning. no permission asked. just a hug.

your first instinct is to fight it, flinch, shove away. the world’s still too bright around the edges & your body isn’t safe to touch. your hands are still burning.

but—

you don’t move, you just go still.

& then you lean forward.

you don’t mean to. it just happens. your chest hits theirs, & suddenly you’re holding on. tight. tighter than you should. your fingers dig into the back of their jacket & your head drops & your breathing shudders.

the scream inside you doesn’t come out. but the pressure cracks just enough that you can breathe.

it’s not pretty, & it’s not clean. but it’s something.

you bury your face in their shoulder. you grip them like they’re the only thing anchoring you to the earth. your powers curl inward again, shrinking back from the edges. the light stops flickering. the rot on the wall pauses in its spread.

you let the grief hit you, finally.

not rage. not revenge. just hurt. just love. just the feeling of almost losing him.

you don’t say anything.

but in that moment, held in someone’s arms & not fighting, you don’t need to.

not when you know it’s @vipersunion now. not when the smell of her shampoo finally cuts through the static. not when her heartbeat presses steady into your chest like she’s willing to hold the world up for you just this once.

talia.

your sister.

you’re still here.

& robby’s going to be okay.

you have to believe that.

you’ve been staring at the picture you’d snapped & printed of yourself, robby & tory on one of your dates for two minutes now. it was at the movie theater for some new film tory’d wanted to see for two weeks, & being the good boyfriend that you are, you’d paid for everything—from the dessert, to the overpriced snacks, to the tickets. you're ignoring the dried blood on your hands—this time around, it’s shadow’s blood—just simply letting the rage fester & bubble underneath your skin. you’d hung the picture up in your apartment, but grabbed on the way out the door, after ciro barely managed to convince you to change your soaking wet, blood-streaked clothes.

WHEN TALIA ENTERS THE OPEN DOOR OF TORY’S HOSPITAL ROOM, you don’t even bother turning around to glance her way. your back is turned towards the door, & you’re still looking at the picture of you, tory & robby. you’re silent.

despite tory fast asleep in the hospital bed next to you, her various wounds bandaged up, there aren’t tears in your eyes. she’s only staying here for the night for observation. not to mention, the roads are currently in barely drivable condition. your doing.

you’re pissed. at everything.

❝ when i said i didn’t want you here, i meant it. ❞ you start, your tone icy.

❝ you obviously don’t trust me enough. ❞ @taughtartist responds.

you settle back into the plastic chair, trying to prevent the hospital from experiencing a blackout. the consequences of which would be as devastating as they would be chaotic. your eyes flare blood red, & they just don’t stop glowing, blood running hot with anger. it’s already raining heavily, the wind howling, the rain relentlessly slamming down against the entirety of the san fernando valley.

❝ congrats. you finally get one thing right tonight. ❞ your tone is peppered with cruel sarcasm, rage barely contained, words nothing short of BITING. ❝ are you going to stand there & pretend to be surprised by that? or do you want me to give you a few seconds to contort your expression & walk out the door? ❞

you take a moment to study the smile on robby’s face in the picture, the rarely-outwardly seen happiness on tory’s face. she feels safe with you. you’d never hurt her. you’d burn the entire world down for her. your devotion to robby is unwavering & all-consuming, as is your devotion to tory. you haven’t left her side since you returned to the hospital. you also haven’t eaten, despite your friends trying to get you to have something from the vending machine. ❝ because as things currently stand, ❞ you continue lowly, ❝ you fucked up tonight. not me. i don’t think i need to remind you of what happened. ❞ you’re not even wasting the effort it would take to begin shouting, which is probably somehow worse. tory got hurt because talia didn’t fucking anticipate. ❝ i thought robby trained you better than that. ❞ you toss out there, just to be an asshole.

tory sighs softly in her sleep, causing you to glance up at her. carefully, you lean forward to brush some of her blonde, slightly damp hair out of her face. you fall silent as you lean back into the chair, still refusing to turn & actually look at the brunette standing in the doorway.

your girlfriend had to peel away from your side to swoop in to rescue her from getting ganged up on by krista, saffron & malia; she’d gotten separated from nova some time during the fight, & ultimately surrounded. but then malia had changed targets, going up against the back up, & landed a nasty, well-placed kick to tory’s ribs to stun her. she then took her to the ground in a particularly tricky judo throw, & after witnessing it in the fucking middle of the sunlit-bathed reseda residential street, you STOPPED PLAYING WITH YOUR FOOD. you’re pretty sure you blacked out in a rage when you heard tory slam against the pavement with a groan of pain. ( as for shadow, he is currently suffering from a couple of cracked ribs of his own, & a nasty concussion. )

it had been an unfair fight to begin with—& it certainly was: cobra kai being outnumbered, rather surprisingly, with a little more than half of the ( stingray coined ) a team students not being preset. where’s the fucking honor in that?

honestly, it was a hell of a coordinated attack from both miyagi do & eagle fang, to go after cobra kai when their numbers were smaller. …not that you didn’t ultimately leave shadow bleeding on the ground, your knuckles barely even bruised, but still. your dojo had more people standing upright than both miyagi do & eagle fang combined when the fight concluded… all because you lost your shit. so, by that logic, cobra kai won that round.

( winner, cobra kai! )

but to say you’re currently blood-boilingly furious with talia is an absolute understatement. it’s rare you’ve felt this level of pure rage at her before… one alternate-current lifetime excluded, for the most part. fortunately for you, you can hate tory’s assailants—reminder, plural—for going after her & talia for FAILING at the same time perfectly fine. you have more than enough rage to go around. your rage has only gotten worse since robby left cobra kai, & you’d broken up.

( we do not accept weakness in this dojo, do we, ethan?

no, sensei silver. we don’t. )

❝ once you give me a solid reason why i should start fucking trusting you again, you'll get it back. not a second before. ❞ you tell her bluntly, forcing yourself to keep your voice level, still refusing to look up from the picture—your fingers had drifted just a tiny bit more towards your ex boyfriend’s face—held carefully in between steady bloodstained fingers. you know that losing complete trust—or hating—your sister for one fuck up that was mostly out of her control isn’t fair to her. but you’re not exactly thinking completely straight right now. tory is in the hospital, for christ’s sake. 90% of your focus is on your girlfriend, the other 10% on plotting REVENGE, solo. you’re not at all focused on talia’s feelings, or being fair to her. maybe, at some point down the line, you’ll apologize for how you acted towards her tonight.

❝ when push comes to shove, mr. wilson, who do you want to be on your side? ❞ kreese had once asked you after abruptly pulling you into his office. you'd performed at your usual level of brutality for that day's training, bringing kyler to his knees in two seconds—literally, much to your sensei's amusement. you'd kept the answers—while fairly obvious to you & maybe even to kreese, closely guarded, declining to answer. but your silence had been enough of an answer for kreese to start ruminating over what admittedly very little he knew about you, to sort your friendships out in his head.

your dynamic with miguel & tory, for one, piqued his interest. it requires further observation.

IF YOU GAINED A PENNY EVERY TIME ANY VERSION OF YOU ACROSS ALL LIFETIMES SENSED BLOOD STAINING YOUR FRIENDS' HANDS, you'd be rich enough to secure a spot in the top of the top of doyona international's shareholders stock. given the amount of blood on your hands—hurting or killing many who were deserving, many who were not ( miguel, for example, falls in that second category, in the destroyed universe AFTER ROBBY'S DEATH AT THE HANDS OF SILVER ), it doesn't phase you in the slightest.

you—humanity-less, unfeeling, & cold as you are—have to frequently remind yourself to feign a modicum of a modicum of human concern, or any fucking emotion. empathy, is quickly topping the list of emotions you. it sucks having to fake emotions at least 3% of the time around others, but there’s a silver lining for this particular scenario. at least @taughtartist is talia. she’s not, say, nolan... who, by the way, actually is trying to get along with you in this universe. you're okay with him in this lifetime, mostly because when you order him around, he does whatever you say without question. here in this lifetime, he doesn't detest you for simply existing. sam, tory, meet the male versions of you.

it’s… interesting, being hailed as the king cobra, mentioned as such by kyler during an outing after the arcade fight. you’re one of the original members, the second after miguel, joining THE IN MIGUEL’S THIRD SESSION ( before he’d drummed up more interest & wallets thanks to fighting kyler & his cronies at school ). so it at least makes total sense to be revered as such. kyler may be a moron of epic proportions, but in this lifetime he knows very well not to mess with you. for example, he witnessed you hospitalize icarus with zero remorse during the school brawl.

charlie, emma & icarus kind of hate this current version of you for that, but you don’t fucking care.

alison had called you a few minutes ago, in a somewhat controlled panic. you don’t really know what the fuck happened, ali had tried explaining, but you told her to stop mid-sentence after she’d stumbled over her words with stern orders wait for you to get to her apartment, so you, talia & ali could have a proper discussion. you hadn’t been doing anything too different than what you usually do after school—training—which is why you’re currently clad in your cobra kai gi. when you enter ali’s apartment with the spare key she’d had made for you ( the apartment is paid for by you, of course. that hasn’t changed either ), you close the door.

you immediately spot ali pacing around her living room, rubbing her hands anxiously, her eyes full of anxiety. your relationship with her is entirely unchanged from your alternate life—the one where you’re a miyagi do student—except she likes to trace the snake tattoo on your arm.

❝ you alright? ❞ you ask her. when she nods, you quickly do an internal diagnostic check with your senses to make sure she’s actually alright. your sharp senses smell talia’s blood & some other unknown person’s on her hands, see it splotching there. she’s otherwise unharmed.

satisfied ali’s uninjured, you step back. ❝ where is she? ❞

❝ upstairs hallway bathroom. ❞ she replies gently, pointing towards the stairs. you nod, already moving towards them. ❝ get yourself cleaned up, too. ❞ you call over your shoulder to her while making your way up the stairs, not bothering to pause your movements, your footsteps thudding on the stairs. ❝ the blood smell is on track to stinking up the entire apartment at this rate. ❞ your tone is blunt. ali winces but nods her head, retreating into the kitchen to do just that.

you heard the sounds of this particular sink faucet running before you’d even approached the apartment door, pinning talia’s exact location down almost immediately. had alison not be anxious or present, you’d have gotten up to the steps without a care in the world. now that you’re getting closer, you can perfectly hear the sounds of furious scrubbing, can smell the soap-diluted wet blood circling the drain. you approach the doorway, simply observing your sister-figure scrubbing her hands clean in a maniacal, obsessive way. okay, so she’s probably in shock. not that you can BLAME her for it. you lean against the threshold of the door, face in its resting blank position. the sounds of desperate scrubbing persist, the only sound in the small room. yep. that blood-soaked towel is definitely going to be replaced at the first opportunity. you’ll put it on your tab.

❛ disappointing, ethan.❜ the silver voice whispers, his voice cold. your shoulders tense like a gunshot just went off, despite the mostly silent room, the only sounds, really, being the buzzing of fluorescent lights or the chatter of the bored teenaged workers down the hall, fingernails digging harder into your palms, nearly drawing blood from crescent wounds.

point, silver! score's one-one.

you take a deep breath as you move back over towards the various selection of pointy, sharp objects, picking up a small throwing knife. you glance at talia for a moment as you move back to the X, then throw the knife—& watch as it lands to the immediate left of the axe, wood splinters flying from the force, scattering to the floor. if the axe wasn’t already stuck into the wood, it’d have hit the dead center of the bullseye.

silver doesn't fucking stop talking. ❛ how do you think you'll protect anyone you care about with your lackluster skills? larusso thinks you're unbalanced. he's right. your father thinks you're drowning. you know you are. your mother thinks you're going to slip off the deep end because of me. how are you going to tell her that you're already doing that? you need to do better. ❜ your teeth grind together, the force so hard you almost chip a tooth. your eldritch self settles just underneath your skin, hissing & clicking in discontent. the lights in the axe throwing establishment flicker once, the ac unit clunking to an abrupt halt. ❛ it's a wonder you survived me, mr. wilson. ❜ the lights flicker twice in rapid succession. point, silver! score's two-one.

❝ shut the fuck up, you fucking piece of shit. ❞ you hiss under your breath to him, clearly agitated & seriously pissed off. point, wilson! you scramble to snap your mouth closed at the last second, but it's too late. talia definitely fucking heard that.

well, shit.

& here's the pièce de résistance, the thing that haunts you like a shadow, like you're caught in a web: YOU DIDN'T SURVIVE, not fully. in both your waking hours & nightmares, you're always in the back room of the cobra kai dojo, mouth full of blood, refusing to heal your body, robby's hands on the sides of your face, thinking about FINISHING THE JOB, PROVING HIS FUCKING LOYALTY.

in some of your darker, more intense nightmares, he does. & you're okay with it.

after talia is finished throwing her own axe & retrieves it, you return the axe & knife back to the table. you pick up a different, smaller axe, walking back to the mark once she's a safe distance away. you move back towards the X, take a deep breath, extending your arm back to throw it at the slab of wood.

❛ i'm curious: ❜ the sensei suddenly continues, his tone now a touch amused, ❛ if you keep getting distracted, unable to stop thinking about your deaths, & failing at simple tasks we both know you excel at, how will you keep robby safe from cobra kai? from me? ❜

the lightbulb at the entrance shatters violently in time with your next heartbeat, the glassy shatter not even audible to you. not over the amount of rage burning hot through your blood.

point, silver!

YOU LOSE, ETHAN! AGAIN!

silver using robby's name catches you entirely off guard, because your brain was dead set in the middle of telling your arm to complete the throw. you throw the axe too high, a little surprised it doesn't slip out of your grip. it lands way off target, of course, up near the top of the board, nowhere remotely near the target area. it doesn't even stick to the board, instead falling to the cement floor, clattering loudly, the noise echoing across the wide open space. you sigh.

❝ fuck. ❞ you mutter.

after quickly retrieving up the axe from the ground, you look at talia. she asks what's wrong, you think. you can tell her lips move, but you don't really hear her. you're too consumed thinking about the silver voice to register her words properly... thereby proving his point. he's right, but you're not happy about it.

in this lifetime, you are the bunny rabbit, silver is the bloodthirsty wolf. given your alternate lifetimes, to say you've seldom been on this end of the metaphor is an understatement. maybe it'd be a little funny if it didn't make you want to rip yourself to bloody chunks with your own fingernails. it makes you want to scream until you can't speak for a long time.

you almost open your mouth, the scream bubbling up in your chest. almost.

sometimes, it's a fucking wonder that you didn't destroy this universe the first time you died, in the back of the ambulance.

YOU DON'T JUST DIE TWICE, GET RESUSCITATED, & WALK AWAY SCOT FREE!

case & motherfucking point: the silver voice.

❝ tell me. ❞ @taughtartist insists.

you slam the axe down onto the table with too much force, the table groaning slightly as it caves in slightly, making an attendant bark at you to relax, then whip around to stare down at talia. you look at her dead in the eyes, your face going alarmingly blank. honestly, you kind of want to punch her for her persistence. seriously, now isn't the fucking time. ...it seems like THERE'S NEVER A GOOD TIME WITH YOU lately. some of your friends are torn between giving you a wide berth so you can deal with your mental health, or sticking by your side to stop you from acting on your sudden, much more VIOLENT impulses, & you know that because you hear their goddamn thoughts. their concerns aren't unwarranted, but it's driving you fucking insane. unfortunately, that makes the silver voice worse. it's a vicious, inescapable cycle.

you'd just wanted to have a fun day with your sister, but it seems that maybe she had ulterior fucking motives. ❛ it was her plan all along. ❜ your hands curl back up into tight fists, knuckles going white. this time, your fingernails do break the skin of your palms, drawing blood. you don't even realize it. you're shocked your eyes haven't started glowing... which is why your Younger Self's eyes are currently blood red, in the other dimension.

❝ you want to know what's been going on with me lately? fine. i hear silver's voice in my fucking head, constantly. ❞ you admit lowly, your voice is as dead & cold as winter. the room's temperature seems to dip several degrees... because it does. this is the first time you've EVER admitted the fact that you hear his voice out loud... to anyone. it needs to be the last. you don't want sam to know, you don't want miguel or emma or calla or aspen or ciro or demetri to know, or mr. larusso, or johnny, or mrs. brown, or your parents—

you especially don't want robby to know.

you'd rather die bloody in the old, now-defunct cobra kai dojo for a third & final time than admit that THERE IS SOMETHING IN YOU THAT IS SHATTERED IRREPERABLY. it's a big dick move.

blood slips down your fingers, gravity making bright red droplets splatter across the table. you ignore it, your right hand reaching out to grab the axe, & it slides across the table with a sharp, bone-rattling noise, ringing slightly in the air. you don't realize it.

you take a single, menacing step towards talia, the look on your face dark. you inhale sharply, then: ❝ is that what you were hoping to hear? ❞ you don't wait for an answer before your tone turns icy & sarcastic. ❝ oh, maybe i should get you an award for being the first to push me so fucking consistently that you're the first person to know! ❞ you smile sharply, but it holds no warmth. annoyed, & without breaking eye contact for a single moment, you hurl the axe at the target for a final time with a frustrated grunt.

(❝ baby steps, ethan. ❞ johnny had said after you'd commented on his & robby's relationship progressing towards a more positive outlook, & you’d rolled your eyes, even if you are happy that they're still on the path of working out their issues. miguel & robby still haven't. )

it took two deaths, subsequent resurrections through medical means, & silver’s voice in your head, but you’ve somewhat learned your lesson. …okay, you probably haven’t, not fully. stubbornness is a wilson family trait; thank you, wade. you really are your father’s son.

hawk & the others have dropped by your plenty of times so far—just twenty minutes ago, demetri did a wellness check under the guise of bringing you the next edition of a certain well-known comic book character's series ( hint: what’s the antithesis of aliveshallow-body-of-water? ), not realizing that you’d already read it a few days into your hospital stay. like all the others, it's the one that doesn't feature your adventures as kidpool, much to your younger self's disappointment.

you're standing in your kitchen. the smell of fresh sage, a smorgasbord of other herbs/spices, & pan-frying chicken makes your apartment smell heavenly. talia is sitting across from you, watching you chop everything up, a ceramic coffee mug in her hands.

seems we're both surprised she's still here. it's been two hours. shouldn't she go home? the silver voice murmurs to you. your chopping motions abruptly slip for a half-second, nearly cutting your pointer, middle & ring fingers as the knife suddenly chops too hard through the sage, which is underneath the roma tomatoes you're planning on chopping next. you're a little surprised there's no indent in the cutting board from the knife digging into the wood. perhaps she's pitying you & doesn't want to leave you alone with me. ...huh. he has a point. that seems like a logical conclusion—not that she or anyone is aware of the fact that you're hearing your killer's voice in your head. or maybe she's making sure you don't recklessly run towards me & get yourself killed for a third time. he adds.

for a split second, your shoulders tense, but it's unavoidably noticeable. you can't school your expression; a haunted look crosses your face like a shadow. you quickly gather the sage onto the flat part of the knife & turn around towards the stove, dumping the herb into the pan. you turn the burner down just a little bit, using a pair of tongs to move the chicken around to make sure it's cooking properly & the sage will actually get absorbed into the skin. you're trying to busy yourself so you don't fucking spiral in front of your sister.

back turned to talia, you close your eyes for a split second to calm down. silver doesn't say anything more. then, you move back over to the cutting board, moving a handful of roma tomatoes down, picking up the knife again. ❝ i can hear you thinking, tals. ❞ you tell her calmly as you slice the first tomato, then another, then another. ❝ what's on your mind ? ❞

❝ i need a plus one for whenever you & keene get married. ❞ @vipersunion comments.

your hands still over the roma tomatoes immediately, the knife freezing halfway into cutting one of them. juice trickles out onto the cutting board, your eyes remaining downcast as your brain screeches to an abrupt & rather disorientating halt. the ideas for tonight's side dish to accompany the chicken bruschetta you'd been preparing flies out the left side of your brain with dizzying speeds, zipping towards the window & violently taking a swan dive five stories down onto the audi parked outside.

out of everything she could have possibly said, you were certainly not anticipating anything like that. there's only been a handful of times where you've been genuinely speechless in this lifetime—this is one of them.

@vipersunion & ethan are approached by a group of random, dangerous strangers

here’s the thing: ethan’s been angry lately. he’s been angry at the universe, angry at his creators for everything they’ve done to him, angry at silver, angry ever since he got out of the hospital. it’s a rotten kind of anger, one that ebbs away at his mental state. he’s changed a fair bit since getting together with—& then breaking up with—auryn, since leaving the hospital, since he died twice & was resurrected. gone is the boy who had a chaotic glint in his eye, the version of him who didn’t think such dark thoughts constantly, who didn’t have the silver voice in his head. the former glint has been replaced by… very little in the way of warmth. his emotional fluctuations have been a little bit extreme, but it’s a goddamn miracle he hasn’t blown up on anyone yet. he knows that his friends are worried about him lately. how could they not be, with everything that’s happened to him?

despite his current state of anger, ethan had been itching to hang out with talia lately, just him & her, desperate to get a sense of normalcy back into his life. desperate to quell the silver voice for a least a little while. …or maybe because of that anger, he’d sought her out so he could attempt to push that anger away. ethan’s not quite sure himself. whatever the case may be, the warring dojos have been pushed to the back of ethan’s mind for today—miyagi do hasn’t had a run-in with cobra kai at all. no karate fights have broken out.

small victories. he thinks.

it’s why he basically annoyed talia until she finally agreed to hang out with him. he literally threatened to show up at the nichols’ apartment—because where else would talia walker be on a saturday evening, if not right next to nova nichols?—to drag her out into the valley for dinner. he’d paid for everything, too. he let talia order whatever she wanted & didn’t even blink at the price of the bill afterwards. the leftover containers are securely wrapped around his arm in a takeout bag, & there’s a notable pep in his step—he’s currently chatting about robby to her, & what they did earlier that day. he basically made robby breakfast in bed, & then they lounged around the apartment for basically the whole day, at least until karate practice rolled around. afterwards, they went back to hanging out together at their his their apartment, preferring to just be with his boyfriend in lieu of responding to his friends’ texts, or thinking about the karate drama. it was very nice. admittedly, ethan still gets butterflies because of his & robby’s new relationship. it’s all very exciting. not to mention healing, because of his past relationship.

he’s with his sister. he just had some great food, rambling about his boyfriend on their casual stroll down the street, enjoying the night air, why wouldn’t he be in a good mood because of that? after all the shit they’ve been through, he thinks they both deserve some relaxation. it’s certainly past due. he almost feels like his old self.

❝ —so then i looked at him, & i went- ❞ he’s cut off by the sound of his phone chirping, & he slows his current pace, then stops entirely on the sidewalk to pull his phone out of his pocket. ❝ oh, hang on a minute. ❞ it’s a text from shadow, quickly followed by a reply from light, his phone making another ping noise as light’s text comes through. he’s quick to respond to shadow’s text, hitting send. he slips his phone into his pocket, smiling over at talia. ❝ sorry. shadow just wanted to know if we were done eating our food. so, anyway, i said to robby that— ❞

all joy is instantly wiped clean from his face when he smells fresh blood nearby & hears a groan of pain. his shoulders tense, & he doesn’t realize that he’s grabbing talia’s hand & moving towards the source until he’s standing a few feet from where he’d been originally standing, staring down a semi-dark expanse of an alleyway.

ethan’s eyes widen in alarm when he sees a group of four middle-aged men surrounding another passed out, heavily bleeding man about his age. they’re all holding knives of various sizes, the metal glinting in the crappy side light above the side door of a restaurant. most, if not all, of the standing men have symbols tattooed on the sides of their necks—an ouroboros underneath a large black tattooed c.

ethan frowns. he carefully places the food containers on the ground. an alarm bell rings in his brain. ali said that lindell, saran & naima have those tattoos. cosima also has those symbols on her wrist… none of them have said anything about what the tattoos mean, though.

—& then the group, sensing a newcomer, turn straight towards him.

shit. they need to run.

don’t run. fight. you’re angry because of what i did to you. use it. prove to me that you’re not as weak as the valley assumes you are, as you’ve portrayed. the silver voice hisses. his shoulders tense, eyes narrowing slightly.

ethan doesn’t keep his eyes off the men fanning out & moving towards him, even as his body instinctually shifts to better shield talia from their gazes. he knows he can take them, & he certainly knows that talia can take care of herself. she isn’t made of glass, but he’s still worried, naturally. that’s what a good big brother does. worry, & do whatever he can to make sure that his sister doesn’t get hurt. if she gets hurt, he might not be able to keep a lid on his powers—& if that happens...

❝ i’ll be fine. go. ❞ he doesn’t like this, but if he can help someone who is in pain... besides, the silver voice is right. he’s angry, he’s in danger, so use your anger to your advantage. ethan says nothing more to talia, both human & eldritch halves buzzing with adrenaline.

one of the advancing men sneers suddenly, jabbing his switchblade towards ethan. ❝ hey, this kid looks a little familiar, doesn’t he? ❞ ethan scowls, his mind racing as he tries to recall if he met these people somewhere, in this lifetime or in another. he comes up frustratingly blank. shit.

❝ pretty sure he’s the one boss was talking about. ❞ grumbles another, his green eyes lingering uncomfortably long on ethan’s face. who the hell is ‘boss’, & how the fuck do these random fucking people know who ethan is?

did his creators—

ethan doesn’t have time to mull over the thoughts racing through his mind before a balled-up fist is flying up towards his face. he’s quick to block the punch by throwing his arm up, so instead of the punch hitting his face, it collides with his forearm. he pivots, grabbing the man’s wrist quickly, using his eldritch strength to twist his wrist violently until he hears a bone in his arm snap like a twig. a cry of agony erupts from his lips. he keeps a firm hold on his wrist while kicking out his knee. the man goes tumbling to the ground, crashing down, the pocket knife falling away from his other hand, skating across the alleyway. ethan doesn’t let go. he uses his grip to keep him in place on the ground, then punches him in the throat with his free hand. he brings his knee down onto his face as hard as he can without killing him, & the man is out cold.

❝ talia, go. now! ❞ ethan snaps to his sister-figure, & barely has time to pull back when he senses a blade coming his way, the switchblade aimed to slice at ethan’s neck. he doesn’t even have to look. he drops low to the ground, dropping underneath the swiping arc trajectory of the blade. he sticks his leg out & sweeps his leg violently. he crashes to the ground next to his friends, landing on his side. ethan lets go of the first man, his body snapping forward, then down, drive by pure instinct. he lands a direct punch to the second man’s face while he’s still stunned. his nose breaks with a violent-sounding crack, blood spurting from his nose, pouring down his face. the three other men take a step back, a little alarmed, clearly a little nervous. slowly, ethan rises from the ground, eerily way too calm despite having a third brush with death in a few months’ time. the look that’s on ethan’s face is downright nightmare fuel. he’s furious. the veins around his eyes are glowing red, his irises stained inky black. one of the men gasp in fear, horror, whatever. ethan simply stares at the three of them, not blinking.

kill them, ethan. another voice murmurs to him in his head. it’s first’s voice. they want to hurt you & talia. their boss clearly knows who you are. they were harming another human. humans like that don’t deserve to live.

kill them before they kill you.

what if they go after robby next?

no! ethan can’t let that happen. he won’t.

❝ fetid scumbags who hurt innocent people don’t deserve to live. ❞ ethan echoes first’s words flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. he barely even sounds like himself. ❝ i’m not going to kill you. if i manage to hospitalize all five of you, though, i’ll be doing the world a favor. it’d send a message to your boss, too. whoever the fuck he is. ❞ he mutters that last part.

don’t do it! ethan’s younger self screams back at him in his head. current-ethan pauses, blinks once. his other self’s voice is much quieter than silver’s voice had been, than first’s voice had been. what would robby think if he saw you/me/us?!

robby isn’t here. the silver voice chimes in straight after.

he isn’t.

that fact is enough for ethan.

next to the group, the dim lightbulb flickers momentarily, the glass cracking with the next beat of ethan’s heart. the three standing men flinch, taking another step back, towards the other end of the exposed alleyway. they’re running.

well, at least they have self-preservation instincts.

ethan’s vessel flickers violently, his true eldritch form flashing violently into view a little like he’s glitching into the universe. every single eye on his true form turns & glares at the men, irises turning blood red. the slit that acts as a mouth snarls demonically, sounding like a bomb going off in their heads. the transformation is only visible to the men, not to talia. as far as she’s concerned, she’s staring at his regular human back.

❝ if i were you, ❞ ethan begins calmly, ( IF I WERE YOU, his eldritch voice echoes, howls, screams directly into their minds, ) ❝ i’d stay away from the valley from now on. ❞ ( I’D STAY AWAY FROM THE VALLEY FROM NOW ON. ) ❝ pick up your little friends & get the fuck out of my sight, before all five of you end up drinking your meals through a straw for the rest of your pathetic, unimportant little lives. ❞ ( IF I DON’T OUTRIGHT SLAUGHTER YOU IF YOU EVEN LOOK AT ME WRONG. CHOOSE WISELY, & CHOOSE NOW. I WON’T ASK AGAIN. )

two of the men scramble to pick up their downed friends, & then they’re gone, tearing down the alleyway & disappearing around the corner. ethan watches them go, his face devoid of emotion. the teen on the ground is dying, a long slash mark from a knife slashed over his torso, his eyes full of agony, blood pooling everywhere, staining his clothes. ethan grimaces, walking over towards the boy, bending down next to him to apply pressure to the wound. the boy screams, & ethan feels… well, nothing.

❝ talia, ❞ ethan begins calmly, not looking over at his sister, instead bunching up the fabric of the young man’s shirt to try & slow the bleeding where his hands can’t reach, ❝ call 911. get an ambulance. then have them call the valley gen hospital. have them tell the hospital to have an OR & a surgeon standing by. there’s a single victim of a gang assault in the second alleyway in between saticoy street & darby ave, in between the coffee spoon coffee shop & the bodega. slash wound across the torso, a couple of broken ribs, in shock, concussion, other minor injuries.

if they ask how much blood he’s lost, tell them you don’t know because we weren’t around to see the assault happen, we only got here at the end at of it. he’s roughly 18-20 years of age. do it now. ❞ he takes a deep breath. ❝ after you’re done there, call wade & vanessa… or robby. let them know i’ll either be on my way to the hospital or to the police precinct. the police are probably going to want to talk to us. ❞

you're sitting across from talia at your kitchen table, quietly staring at her bruised knuckles. you grimace & lay the soaked ice-cold (clean) dish towel, onto her elevated hand gently, knowing that the injury is probably going to leave scars. whatever—whoever?— she was punching must have been quite tough. her hand doesn't look broken, though, which is good. she'll match with theo, now. he has scars on his knuckles from training, too.

you don't really know the full extent of what's going on in cobra kai ( have you ever? ), but you know from dami that it's gotten more intense with that newcomer being welcomed into the fold—sensei kim, her name is. you don't really want to know what’s happening there anymore, if you're being honest. your own scar from your death experiences seems to burn any time you think about silver. because you hear the sensei's voice in your head, you're in a near-constant state of burning, every nerve-ending submerged in fire. you're angry, too.

❝ it's more or less healed up. ❞ @vipersunion breaks the silence.

your eyes flicker up to meet her face, scowling even as you gingerly check the wounds on her hands, just in case. ❝ if you think that's anywhere close to being fully healed, tals, then you haven’t looked at i-it close enough. ❞ you're not unkind about it, but you're not sugarcoating your words, either. you’re blunt, & tired, & wholly fed up with cobra kai. you place the compress back down, scowling.

❝ i’m not going to tell you to leave because it’s dangerous, & i can’t force you to leave, either. you’re completely free to make your own fucking choices, even if they’re dangerous. i know you can handle yourself, but you need to know it’s only going to get worse, & it won’t get better. ever. silver’s only going to get worse. ❞ take it from you—you were the one who clinically died twice because of silver. you have the scar, the verbal hallucinations, & the stockpiled trauma to prove it. talia & your other friends in the dojo need to be a little more careful.