=^.ᴥ.^=ﾉ

It was a miracle they had survived. But they had survived. Calyx was waiting for an ICU bed. Ada had the overwhelming urge that she needed to leave. It wasn't safe. For her, and everyone else. Something was encroaching, some other-worldly punishment for her hubris. It would be a bad fallout, and she had no inclination to deal with it in full view of everyone.

When she got up, because she had been kneeling on the floor to rest her head on a chair, she swayed, then retched - and covered her mouth with a quiet pang of alarm as she did. She was starting to shiver, the pain making her feverish. "Need to…" she trailed off, opening the eye that didn't feel as if it was actively being drilled into so she could find her way to a wall.

"Bathroom? Need me to come?" Elene was standing. Ada stepped away. There was no way she was letting her sister come to help with this. She didn't need her pity. Ada was proud of herself for helping, and she knew she'd overdone it.

"S- stay. Back soon." She ground out the lie so easily. If she had been thinking clearly, maybe she would have thought to explain what she wanted to do. Maybe not. Elene's extant worry was the last thing on her mind - but in a way, she just didn't want to be the focus of it.

She did throw up first, though. It usually helped the migraines, but it just made the feverish feeling worse. Images of textbooks flashed through her mind. Acute magic withdrawal. Over-exertion. The dangers of tinkering with already-dangerous spells. Fucking illegal spells, at that. They were banned for a reason, she thought with a miserable laugh. Her vomit was stained with blood.

—

Getting through the self-admission process was both quicker and longer than she expected. She was really, really run down. She kept passing out in chairs. She kept letting herself pass out in chairs, now that she was alone. The migraine never left, the nausea didn't ease and the retching didn't stop. Neither did the blood.

At one point, she saw through lidded eyelids and sweat-soaked lashes that the sick bowl was full of it. Not even bile, just blood and saliva. Horrifying. She had just been trying to help. She couldn't stop shivering. It was all very scary, suddenly. She didn't want to be alone. Her hands shook too much to think about touching her phone, and she didn't really want Elene here, either. Or anyone else. But the only person she was thinking about was her sister.

Elene was ringing her. She'd started - at some point. Three missed calls. Someone asked if they should answer it. Ada was in a bed by now - how had that happened? When did that happen? It terrified her that she was losing so much time. The darkness outside made it worse.

"No," she croaked out. "Don't. Just my sister." Ada regretted speaking. It reminded her of the taste of blood too much. There was water by the bed but she was exhausted and too nauseous to reach for it.

Noah, the nurse, blinked at her. "I'm sure she'd want to be here, love."

Ada stared at the ceiling, heard her own breathing come out laboured. The IV going into her arm burned unpleasantly, but the migraine was receding and she knew that the fluids had something to do with it. They'd given pain meds that weren't working. She could hear her own heart leaping and racing, and she knew it was making everyone nervous because people kept looking at her as if she'd died, or was dying. Maybe it was confirmation bias. Feedback loops.

"She'll just worry."

She said it without looking at the nurse, but knew what his expression would be.

Elene rang again. Ada whimpered, turning over and away from it. "Switch it off," she whispered. "Just switch it off. Or - or - " her breathing quickened. Her heart did, too. "Is it really bad?" she asked, knowing the answer.

She had been feverish, and now she was freezing. Dunked in a lake of dread. Ice in her bloodstream instead of blood. She'd thrown it all up, and they were transfusing her with more. They had to reset her body. Too much magic. Too much fucked up magic. She was so sorry. They wrote case reports about things like this. How many died?

"We're taking care of you, Ada."

She didn't move from where she'd buried her face in her hands, so she felt her face fall. "It's really bad, isn't it?" She sounded like a child, like someone who had no idea what was happening. But that wasn't true. What worried her was the knowing.

She turned over, but spun too quickly and dizziness made her frantically throw out an arm for the rail. Noah was there too, in a heartbeat.

"Hey, hey, I've got you. We can have a conversation about family later, if you want? Together? You don't need to do it alone."

Vertigo wanted to overwhelm her. She had so far to fall. Ada lowered herself back down, stared up at the ceiling. They'd dimmed the lights for her, but it was still bright and painful. She had the feeling that she could put herself in complete and total darkness, and it would still be bright and painful. The light was coming from inside her brain. Her core was burning up. A white star. She'd explode soon. It was awful, waiting.

"I think I really messed up," she whispered.

"You got yourself here, though, didn't you? Steps in the right direction. Strides, even. That's all we need."

Ada didn't know what was wrong with her. She'd never felt so vulnerable in her life. She wanted to ask something stupid like, Did I do the right thing? or Am I going to die? or Can I have a hug? But she knew the answers already. She had been helping Calyx. If she died, it wouldn't be her problem anymore. And she had too much pride to ask for a hug from a stranger.

"I feel horrible," she murmured. She did. She felt wrung out and hung to dry, empty and hollow and aching.

"Understandable. Your body's under a lot of stress. You should rest, Ada. You know how to call me?" Noah pointed to the call button. Ada nodded, wanting desperately not to be left alone. But he had a job to do, so she watched him leave. He smiled on the exit; she couldn't bring herself to return it. She couldn't make everyone pause their lives to keep her afloat. She wanted to. She was not as selfish as she had been, once.

Elene rang again. Even with all her dread, all she wanted to do was pick up the phone and tell her sister that she was fine, that nothing was wrong. The intervals were getting shorter. Ada knew that Elene hated talking on the phone. They must be too far away to communicate telepathically. Had Elene tried?

The two of them had been so good at that as kids. No one could figure out how they could do it across two school buildings, but they knew. They could hold conversations with each other and exist in the real world at the same time. It was a game to them, to see who could do the most complicated thing while holding the telepathic connection. Ada won a game of basketball, poking fun at Elene's boyfriend all the while. Elene translated a page of Latin, talking the whole time about how she'd figured out how to clean dishes faster. Ada solved a page of long division. Elene won a game of chess. It went on. Nobody could eavesdrop. Their own private space, in the safety of their minds.

It wasn't for anything other than their own amusement, but the competition always seemed more important to Ada. Really, Elene had probably been letting Ada win. Oh, sorry, got distracted, her sister would say. It was impossible for Ada to believe, how easy it was for her to get caught up in focus. She always pushed it too far. Her focus. Like the force of a star, she burned and burned and burned, then exploded. But it meant that she always won. Now she was losing. Or this was the truth of winning after all - this emptiness.

One day, Elene stopped playing along entirely. This isn't fun, Ada, I'm busy. She'd been around fourteen, Ada nine. Ada had been so angry. At least, she acted like she was angry. Really, she was devastated. Elene closed herself off. Ada had half a mind to do that now. Why, though? They only had each other.

Hey, Ada thought, pushing her thoughts to the clearest image of Elene she could make out. She sent the magic out, but she couldn't be sure if it'd reach her. She wasn't supposed to be using any. It inspired a quiet thrill in her that she still could.

Just when she thought it wouldn't work, the phone stopped ringing.

Dee? Ada winced at the panic in her voice. Ada! Where are you? It's been hours!

Calm down. I'm - um. Let me. One second. I'm fine.

Ada held her phone with shaking hands. The picture blurred, but her name was clear enough.

Elene's reply came quickly.

E: ??????

E: What is that. Ada. Where are you?

The picture had been easy enough to send, but Ada was shaking too hard to type. Sweating, too. Panic, at being found out. Panic, at the image in the centre of her vision - a pulsating sun. The magic had been a bad idea. Such a bad idea. Fuck, Ada, why can't you know your fucking limits?

The migraine was coming back, and with it came the fear. The nausea. She heard herself make a desperate, keening sound. Absolute helplessness. She had no idea how to fix this.

Ada bit her hand as she answered Elene's call, so she had the first word. Competition. At some point, it'd stopped being friendly. Ada didn't know what it was now.

Her sister spoke in one panicked breath. "Ada, I swear to fucking Elysium if you don't - " She paused. Ada knew she'd heard the beeping, or her ragged breaths as she tried not to cry. This was a mistake.

"I'm fine," she said - or tried to. Her throat was tight and hoarse and she knew there was no way Elene would believe her half-hearted reassurance.

She could almost see Elene's frown, her face pinched with worry. "Ada? Please tell me where you are."

"I - I'm - I'm okay, El. It - I couldn't - didn't want to - make things worse." She coughed, and the star pulsated in time with her ribcage fluttering.

She heard a sharp sigh over the phone.

"You've been missing for hours, Dee. After what we just came out of? Are you serious?"

Ada stared at the ceiling, confused. Or - she tried to. The star moved to the centre of her vision - the roiling mass of bright, white anguish. About to explode. She didn't know how she knew, but she knew. It was majestic and terrifying. If it had been in a textbook, she would have marvelled at it and studied it for hours. But it was here, above her bed, and all she felt was scared.

Elene's obliviousness was a welcome distraction. If I'm going to die, at least I don't have to see her cry.

"Ada? Hello?"

Even with everything, annoyance flashed through her mind. Why was she being scolded? No, she knew why.

"Can't you just be happy to hear from me?" she asked, knowing that neither of them were being rational. She didn't like hearing her scratchy voice. It hurt to speak. She'd been coughing a lot. Everything felt raw and confusing.

Elene made a frustrated sound. "No, don't - what happened? How do you have a - have you been admitted somewhere? Why did you just vanish like that, I could - " Elene cut herself off, but Ada knew her sister well enough to know the tight-lipped, clenched jaw expression she had on her face when she stopped herself before finishing a threat. They hurt each other so easily.

"I said I'm fine," Ada said, a little angrily. "They're taking care of it." They're taking care of me. Suddenly, all her concerns about dying seemed very far away. She was annoying and being annoyed by her sister. She could still see the star, even with her eyes closed. It was getting bigger. Her panic was a restless wolf in her chest. She locked it away, closed off the cage, covered it up. Not now. Not while Elene could hear. They had roles to play. Too much honesty was required from Ada to talk about this. She thought her mind would explode from the effort, if the supernova didn't go first.

"I - Ada! This is why I told you to - "

Ada snapped back quickly, unwilling to let her finish her sentence. "No, no, Elene, you do not get to tell me I told you so."

Unbelieveable pragmatism appeared in her sister's voice. Fucking bitch. "I wasn't going to say that."

"Look, just - I'm just calling to say I'm fine."

Elene hissed, real anger in her voice. "Can you stop saying that and just tell me where you are?"

The yelling had nothing to do with what happened next. Probably.

Something crackled in her skull. Ada smelt burning, and she knew, somehow, that it was coming from herself. Nails in her skull. The light got brighter, but the star imploded. Quick as a bolt of lightning, and yet she saw every atom of it. Sounds increased in pitch and volume. She opened her eyes and regretted it. Fractals in the fabric of the universe. Dread gripped her chest. Ada suddenly hated all the books she'd ever read, all the time she'd ever spent learning about what could go wrong with magic. Impending doom, right?

"Ihavetogo," she said through gritted teeth, breathing heavy with the effort of keeping herself conscious.

"No, no, Ada, wait, tell me where you are - "

"Seventh floor," she slurred. "They…" They might not let you in. I don't know if I want you to come. Ada couldn't say any of this. Her hand was burning, or the phone was? Deaf to her sister's pleading, she cut the call off and surrendered herself to the impending implosion.

Or - she thought she did. The pain reached a heady crescendo and she went limp in the bed, the phone falling out of her hand onto the floor. It wasn't quite a seizure, what happened next, but to the newly-graduated nurse who saw Ada drop the phone and faint out of nowhere, it certainly looked like one. Her eyes glowed brilliant white even through her shut eyelids, and in the dark of the night and the dimmed lights of the ward, she was as good as a small sun. As volatile, too.

The next few minutes were a frantic blur. Ada was already hooked up to a lot of things, and a lot of those were pulled out as she got worse, and volumes got louder as it didn't stop, and the curtain was drawn because people were watching, but this, of course, did nothing for the noise or the panic, and this ward was full of people with magic-related injuries - but Ada was by far the worst. This was a comedown six weeks in the making, and the doctor on call had never seen a case this intense in a person this young for a long time.

Still, Ada had a good instinct to get herself somewhere safe. In all of six minutes, they got the not-seizure under control, a sedative in her veins joining all the rest of the medication keeping her heart calm and her lungs expanding. They wanted to check her brain activity, they wanted to clear her system, they wanted to get the specialists in. Ada, asleep, knew none of this.

But Elene, who had heard all of it, almost passed out from sheer panic. The phone had been kicked under the bed, so sound was muffled but still audible.

She'd already left Calyx's room to call Ada, and stood in the corridor as she tried to process her relief at hearing from her sister and frustration at still not knowing where she was. So when she froze and sank to the floor, phone glued to her ear, it was in full view of the moving traffic of patients and medical staff alike, but she could hardly even see them.

"Ada?" she whispered after a few long, long, silent moments, knowing that she wouldn't get an answer. "Dee, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Then, and only then, did she cut the phone off, and with shaking legs and tears that she would not even attempt to cease, moved to find her sister.

—

She was scared. She was dreaming. She was trapped.

They didn't know this. They didn't know that she was paralysed in a nightmare, crushing weight on her chest. They were just trying to help.

- "She's seizing!" - "Some privacy, please!" - "Can we get some - " -

Ada cried. It made no sense - it shouldn't be like that - it was impossible - she was impossible - she'd done the impossible? She had been so proud.

It seemed like with every second that passed, she was in more pain. New aches. Old aches. Ones she'd been ignoring, ones that had long-ago healed. Every cut and scar she'd ever healed started to open itself back up. Something was very, very wrong with her magic. And her magic was part of her. Lightning flashed in her eyes, and in the world, the lights above her bed went out. She was in so much pain that she could not even scream, just writhed and whimpered desperately.

The lucidity was gone completely. Some of it was the meds, some of it had never really returned. She messed up. She should've listened. Why didn't she listen? She just wanted to help. She just wanted to do the right thing for once in her life. No one ever had the chance to fix things, to change things, and she had the chance, and she did the right thing and now everything hurt. She wasn't angry. She was just scared, and so alone, but surrounded. Alone because she was surrounded. There was no one on her level. Everyone stood above her, worked around her.

Then there was the terror. She knew she was going to die. Her heart was being squeezed by a thing with claws, her chest stepped on and crushed. The hellhound. She had had to let it in, to let the spell work. Now it was here and would not leave. She had relied on it too long, made her magic familiar to it. But it had worked, it fucking worked, it worked when nothing else had, when her best friend would have died otherwise, so she refused to feel anything but proud.

Still. There was this frustrating instinct to survive that kept bringing back the fear. Her body was trying to expel it, trying to turn itself out. Her mind was trying to escape it, but there was nowhere to run so it simply locked her in a small room and shut out the world. Her magic was destroying itself to destroy it. How had it gone so wrong?

Her hands were trapped by her sides. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. The thing on her chest wouldn't let her breathe, and she didn't want to open her eyes either, didn't want to look at it because that would make it real, and then she would panic, and then -

Something shifted. Something like ice-cold wind in the air. It cleared something. Ada was cold from the blood loss and hot from the stress, but she still felt it. Paralysed as she was, she didn't freeze, but she focused. Tensed.

"Oh, Dee. There you are. What did - what have they done to you? What happened, my love? I'm here. I'm so sorry."

Her sister brushed away hair that clung to her forehead. The hound shifted. Ada still couldn't move. She could breathe. Elene was here. Elene was -

"Hey, uh, hello! Is - is she okay? She's breathing?"

Ada was breathing. Yes. Yes, and she took another breath for her sister, just to be sure that she could see. I'm here. She's here. That wind. She'd grown up knowing the smell of that wind. She could not help the sob that rose up in her throat. Breathing. Elene, I'm breathing.

"Yes, hi! Are you -"

"Her sister. Elene Silverstone. She - I called? I called her. A lot. I called the ward, as well, I'm - is she - can you tell me - "

"She's stable," someone said. "Gave us all a fright."

Ada's eyes were still closed, but she could hear just fine. So she heard, and she ached, at the quiet whimper and gasp from Elene.

"Yeah," she breathed. Her voice was so high and tight and thick with tension. "Yes. Yes. God. My baby sister. But she's okay now? Better?" Elene held her hand, and Ada would have squeezed it but she was too focused on every painful sensation now returning to her, to do anything other than breathe.

"Is she - is she going to wake up soon?"

A pause. "Hopefully. We had to give her a sedative, but we want to monitor her brain -"

"Her brain?"

My brain's fine, El.

Ada heard her sister's heart stutter. Oh. Oh, Ada. You scared me.

Sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm - - but she couldn't finish the sentence, even in her head, because her head ached and a flood of tears escaped her.

Elene wasn't standing anymore. "Hey, oh, darling, it's okay. It's okay, I've got you." She held Ada in a shaky, awkward embrace, cradling her head. She kissed her hair, her awful tangled hair, and here was the love that she had been missing for half her life. All she had to do was die. But she had it now. The urge to be resentful was gone. It might come back. Here, in this hospital room, being held by the first person to love her, she couldn't bring herself to feel anything but grateful.

She was still scared to open her eyes, anticipating all those old wounds open again - but the feeling was fading, so she let out a shaky breath and opened them just a fraction.

Not a scratch. It was almost mocking, how innocuous her bare skin looked. There had been so much blood. Rivers of it.

A tear fell down the side of Ada's eye. The pillow was soaked with them. She couldn't distinguish between the feelings of blood or water, and in her mind, it was still the river of blood she lay in, not a sweat-drenched hospital bed.

"Oh. Hi," Elene said quietly. Her eyes were red and puffy.

Ada smiled briefly, coughed. "You - your hair's a mess."

To her shock, Elene laughed. She never usually laughed at those jokes. Then she pulled her hair out of its bun and ran a hand through it, then left it out. Very strange. Ada saw that her hands were shaking, though.

"So is yours," she teased lightly. Then the smile was gone, and she leaned forward, serious. She pressed a kiss to Ada's forehead. "We aren't going to fight about this."

"Mm," Ada hummed in agreement. "Fine - with me." Her voice broke and she coughed, retching suddenly at the intensity of it. She tasted blood in the back of her throat and knew that Elene saw the way her eyes widened at the realisation. After all this time and that terrible divide, they still knew each other so well.

"Woah, woah. Easy. Here." Elene didn't sound panicked, just calm. As calm as she always was. If she cast her mind back far enough, Ada could remember countless times where Elene had been the only one who could calm her down. She reached into her bag and uncapped a water bottle, nudged Ada with it gently. Ada just stared at it mournfully. Her arms hurt. Phantom pain? Memories?

Her sister laughed softly and wordlessly helped manoeuvre her to a half-sitting position. Ada drank gratefully, then slumped forward to rest her head on Elene's shoulder before the crying started again. Ada knew it was coming, and she didn't want Elene to see.

"Oh," Elene said quietly, holding her close. "Oh, Ada. What happened?" She wasn't seriously asking, Ada knew. It was more of a stunned comment on their combined bad luck.

This hug lasted longer. Ada still twitched with misfiring magic and shot nerves, but Elene held her through it, stroked her hair, and Ada was so taken by how easily she leaned into the comfort that she did not have it in her to wish it happened more often.

She wanted to talk about it, but where to start? She was so tired. Sleepy fog rested at her peripheries, beckoned silently, but she was afraid. The hound was there, too. She knew it was. She knew she would have to face it again but she was awake now and her sister was here and her stupid plan had worked.

"It was too quick, El," she explained quietly, trying not to let her voice shake. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

She meant: I'm sorry.

"It's okay. We'll talk about that later. I would've ripped this place apart looking for you, you know that?"

She meant: I love you.

The rift that had existed between them for so many years meant that neither could not say either phrase when they meant it so much. It would feel dishonest; untrue. These sisters, though. They had never needed words to understand each other.

---

Atlas hums for a moment, resigning himself to Wren's obviously restless mood; he carefully marks his page, closing his book, and places it tenderly back inside his crate. “I'm sort of hungry. We could go and grab lunch.” He offers. “There's a McDonald's nearby, isn't there?”

Wren perks up instantaneously. “Oh yeah, that's a good idea!” They grin, hopping into the drivers seat and starting up the car. Atlas almost smiles to himself, a new sort of pep in his step as he follows, Wren already busy speeding out of their current parking spot.

The past week has been the best week of his life.

Calm, content; quiet. A contrast to what he remembers back at the warehouse. Each of his days used to be selected for him, his activities marked down to the very second. He had no choice in the matter, instead did what he was told, always and forever. He's not quite sure if he's stopped missing it yet, the predictability of it all, the routine. Yet, in the same breath he can say for sure, he's never felt so completely free.

Wren's company is like no other. He doesn't feel the need to be scared around them, to hold his breath before he speaks. They're carefree, laidback. They ask for his opinion on things, show him new places he'd never have imagined going to. They fulfill the part of his life he'd forevermore been lacking — something akin to normalcy. They don't tell him what's best for him, they don't care. They don't seem to mind his habits, not anymore. They're really… special.

As the days stretch on, Eden seems farther and farther away.

· · ───────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────────── · ·

The drive is short this time, only a quick stretch down the road; Wren's music is thumping, windows rolled down all the way, and the soft breeze against Atlas's skin is nice. Peaceful, even. Wren points to several dogs, all different breeds, being walked down the road, much to Atlas's overall entertainment as they pass through the busy street. People are out and about; chatting, hushedly speaking into their phones, window shopping. Atlas watches them go by, already excited for their meal as Wren turns into the McDonald's parking lot.

“So,” Wren says, leading the way into the restaurant. “Big Mac? Or do you want to try something new?”

“I'd like to try something new.” Atlas replies.

Wren hums and gestures towards the vast menu, flashing a wide variety of burgers, treats, drinks, and fry options for Atlas to struggle to pick from. “Take your pick. I'm getting nuggets.”

Atlas scans the menu, glancing through all the different items. Burgers, chicken burgers, chicken wraps, veggie wraps, fries — medium, small, or large — soda in a variety of flavours…. All of it is so fresh and foreign, he can't possibly try to pick and choose between them. Which would be better, a burger combo or one of their snack options that they offer? What if the other burgers aren't as tasty as the Big Mac was? Or perhaps he'll be missing out if he sticks with the predictability of his previous order. A difficult dilemma, indeed.

He squints his eyes, eying the varying prices and pausing for a minute. There's such a wide range of options, his head feels as if it's going to explode. What to get… what to get…..?

“Need some help?”

Wren interrupts from behind him, nudging him out of the way of a couple who has just entered behind them, cutting in line in front of them as Atlas struggles with his hefty choice.

Atlas watches as the screen changes again, the illumination of the sign darkening for a second as a new crop of menu options open up before him, furthering his internal debate on what he should choose. Slowly, he nods, tearing his gaze away from the screen to look down at Wren.

Wren smiles, snorting slightly to themself. “Well, the McChicken is a classic, pretty good choice if I do say so myself. Or you could get the Quarter Pounder, if you just want a regular burger.” They say, turning back to face him. “Whaddya say?”

“Hmm… I suppose I'll try the McChicken this time then.” He decides finally.

Wren hums, grinning wide. “Alright, good choice!” They say, clapping him harshly against his back and leading him back into line. Unpreoccupied with the menu, Atlas can now see this McDonald's is much more cramped than the one they had previously visited. At the very front of the line, the workers bustle around at the front, rushedly tossing things into brown paper bags and yelling out order numbers. Unlike how he and Wren had been one of the only people to order when he came here originally, now he can see groups of teenagers similar in age to them, along with families that include small, whiny kids, and flocks of the elderly, who laugh and talk in their little bunches.

“Busy day.” Wren mutters, glancing to their phone as the line very stubbornly refuses to budge. “Must be the lunch rush or something.”

Atlas hums in response, his eyes not on Wren but instead flickering in between the different groups of rather rowdy customers that have stationed themselves inside. Its only now, fully focusing on it, that he notices a strange pattern within the crowds. Along the flocks of human children, teenagers, and kindly seniors, a completely different gathering has begun. In stark contrast to the rest, he finds himself staring at several pairs of aristocratic adults, all dressed in formal attire — suits, dresses, the like.

He narrows his eyes. “It seems like there's some sort of convention taking place — maybe near here.”

Wren doesn't pay it any mind, tapping at their screen with no true care or concern. “Huh. Think so?”

Atlas glances around the place. Briefcases, shining, expensive technology, and extravagant linens. He hadn't seen much of the human world yet, but he did know one thing: This definitely couldn't be your average, run-of-the-mill, regular day sight. Especially inside a McDonald's, which didn't seem to be anywhere near a high class restaurant, not like the ones he'd heard about. As tasty as the burgers were, the stench of grease alone let him know this was nowhere near close to fine dining.

This sudden crowd is very out of place. It causes his brows to narrow, shoulders to draw back. Eyes dart in between the faces; scanning, calculating. What—

“Hey, can I get a McChicken combo and…”

Wren's voice pulls Atlas back. He glances momentarily towards them and the teenaged, acne-ridden McDonald's worker, and then back to the surrounding crowd. A group of wealthy workers, and none that are paying attention to either of them in the very slightest; in no way should they be drawing any suspicion. Atlas frowns.

He doesn't like this.

Before he has the chance to say something, Wren is grabbing the receipt from the cashier's hand, throwing their head back as they groan and lead Atlas over to a window seat. “Ugh. I'm so hungry.”

Atlas sits down, stiff, tapping his forefinger against the edge of the table as Wren plops down opposite to him, slumping back in their seat. Their feet rest atop his, heels hitting the tops of his boots in a rhythmic fashion, somewhat calming. The weight is a welcome comfort, drawing Atlas from his paranoid worrying. If only for a second.

“We should do something fun after this.” They mutter, talking mainly to themself. “I'm gonna go crazy if I spend another afternoon in that freakin' van.”

Atlas's eyes move to each face that can be found in each of the tables that litter the small McDonald's layout. Happy, smiling, chatting. Just as they had all been the first time he did so.

“The weather is so nice this week too. We gotta take advantage, before we know it winter'll come.” Wren sighs. “I hate winter.”

He isn't sure exactly what has come over him. The hairs on the back of his neck stand straight, a strange feeling of general unsettlement sitting in the base of his stomach.

Wren sits up straight, leans their elbows against the table. “Hey, how about we find another park?” They ask, eyes falling in his direction. “That or we can check to see if they have any sort of fall activities going around downtown. Whaddya say?”

Atlas's gaze makes its way back towards the left side of the McDonald's, just beside the doors.

“Uh—” he mutters distractedly, his muscles freezing into place.

Eyes.

Two sets of eyes, focused straight at him.

For the first time in an entire week, Atlas is visible again. Not a blank-faced boy in the background that most people pass by without a second glance. No, he's the object of someone's attention; sharp, unrelenting eyes focused directly on him.

For someone…. is watching him.

He is still within seconds, rigid. He only has the time to catch sight of their faces before he's forced himself to look away, focusing again on the menu, blinking faintly.

Glaring at him from only feet away is a boy and a girl. They're dark-eyed and almost invisible, tucked into the very most corner of the restaurant, positioned facing the door. A regular person wouldn't have noticed them, dressed in rather ambiguous clothes that don't stand out when paired with the hordes of business men and women packed inside. But Atlas's eyes have been trained better, able to pick out even the smallest and most insignificant details from within a crowd.

And fuck, he recognizes them.

“Something up?” Wren whispers, eyes narrowed, worried. Throughout the week since his departure from the warehouse, they've somehow managed to figure out how to pick out the subtle clues he leaves with his body language. It's rather impressive.

Atlas turns back to face them. Slow, steady, forcing himself to act as normal. “Don't move.” He mutters, voice surprisingly calm as he finally meets their gaze. His eyes are sharp, urgent, pleading with them to listen.

Wren stiffens, falling pale. “What?” They choke, voice strained, eyes darting around nervously. For the first time in a week, they've had to come face-to-face with the fact that they are currently under danger. And it's pulled them into a complete panic.

“Someone's here.” Atlas tells them, keeping his voice quiet yet eerily calm. Despite the unknown territory, the fear that instantly stopped him cold in his tracks, he forces himself to fall back into routine. Routine, under the face of danger, he can rely on. The routine — instinct — it's good. It's what has kept him alive this far. “I need you to create an illusion over us so we can make it back to the van.”

The gaze on the back of his neck never moves. Its steady, consistent, burning into his skin. He can tell they have seconds, at best, before his two former classmates pounce on the both of them.

Numbers 536 and 419, he registered their faces instantly. One of the better-skilled soldiers from inside his rank, Atlas had sparred with them on numerous occasions — coming out victorious every time, of course. Fortunately, he was much stronger than them, had much more under his belt than they did. Unfortunately, knowing Eden, they were only the look-out for the higher-ranked snipers that would soon be descending upon them.

He should have known they'd send his old allies to capture him.

“Shit.” Wren mumbles. Their eyes are wide, horrified, not focusing on one object for too long. Fingers grip the edge of the table like a lifeline. “You want me to do it here? Someone will see.”

“I'm not sure how much control over your powers you have, but if it isn't too difficult I need you to create an illusion around our table.” Atlas instructs, the plan already taking form inside his head. “Make it appear like we're still waiting for our food. Then you'll have to cloak the two of us, just enough to stay undercover while we make our way back outside.”

Wren listens and is quiet for a moment after as they think. “Okay.” They nod, their jaw clenching as they ready themself. Their eyes spark, silver swirling through the hazel, and Atlas watches as the air waves around them, illusion setting in place.

The two of them are quick to stand, eyes momentarily meeting each other before Atlas is leading the way, scanning through the restaurant, picking the easiest possible routes to get them out and without gathering any attention. On their way out, they pass by another pair of business men, and it's just as Atlas manages to slip past, that he dully notices the insignia printed onto the side of one of their briefcases. An eye underneath a boldly printed E.

It's an ambush.

· · ───────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────────── · ·

Neither of them speak until they make it into the van, climbing into their respective seats with bated breath. Wren's eyes are wide as saucers as they glance in Atlas's direction, stomach squeezing into knots. “What's going on?” They gasp out, anxiety overriding their senses. “Who's watching us?”

Atlas's attention isn't on them, his gaze fixed upon the surrounding cars inside the parking lot. “Put another illusion over the van. I think there's more gathered a few cars over.” He orders, face dead serious. “I spotted two inside the McDonald's, and I think the other ones in business attire were stationed as scouts. But they'll all be quick to notice something's wrong.”

“Fuck.”

Wren thought they still had time. Time together, time to be free. Time where Atlas could be as he is, not as he was trained to be. To be a kid, and do dumb shit, and have fun, and see all the things that he never was allowed to before. They thought that they'd have more time with him before things spiralled into this, until Eden was back into the picture again. He'd just barely been out, barely began to trust them.

They thought they would've at least had longer than a couple of days before they were back under the threat of constant surveillance — constant fear.

“How did they find us so soon…?” They mutter to themself, blinking hard as they cast another illusion around the van. Their eyes strain from the effort and they grit their teeth, hands clenched so tightly against the steering wheel their knuckles are turning white. They didn't even notice anyone inside, didn't even think to.

“We need to keep moving.” Atlas directs, face pointed towards the window. “We don't have much time left.”

Wren doesn't waste any time peeling out of there. As soon as Atlas's words leave his mouth, they're backing up, twisting the van as they speed back out onto the road with a kind of craze they're sure leaves the other drivers startled.

Wren curses under their breath. “We’re not going back to the parking garage. Grab the map in the glove compartment, we need to go somewhere else.”

Atlas nods, swiftly grabbing the map as Wren instructs and glancing at it for somewhere else to lay down low at. “There’s no doubt that those soldiers will be back on our tail soon enough, I’m sure we only have a couple minutes now. Your safest bet is to drop me off at the side of the road, and I’ll go back to take them out.”

Wren’s head snaps towards Atlas when he speaks, the van swerving before they quickly straighten out the steering wheel. “What? No! Dude, just find a place for us to head to. We can hide and wait them out before getting back on the road.”

“That’s not how this works.” Atlas tells them, eyes not on their face yet, but still burning into the map. He scans the piece of paper with a deadset sort of determination; Wren can almost see the gears turning from inside his head. “Once they’ve pinpointed our location, they’re going to call in for backup, considering I’m the highest ranked of my class. That’ll just complicate things further. It’ll be easier to deal with three than to deal with fifteen.”

Wren glances over at Atlas again, eyes narrowed as they listen to him. They want to protest but he’s right. Taking care of the situation now will be much easier. “You sure you want to?”

“I’m much stronger than them.” Atlas says confidently. “I can handle it.”

Wren examines his face. His shoulders are drawn back, expression set. If he's worried or nervous about this, Wren can't tell. He doesn't let any other emotion slip past. They frown for a split second, unsure about this. Are they sure he's ready for this, ready to face what may even be his past friends for the first time since he left them all?

He looks up at Wren. His expression is unwavering, face clear. “You’ll need to be nearby. Do you have any way I can contact you?”

Wren's shoulders slump. Maybe a week ago, letting him go out to fight Eden soldiers would've left them scared — of what he'd do, of if he'd leave. Sell them out. But today, things are different. Atlas is different. They're sure of it. A week with them can't erase the years of damage Eden has engraved within him; yet still, they can see a change in his eyes; a spark that wasn't there before.

They trust him.

Wren nods firmly. “Walkies in the back. Take one. I’ll stay in range.” They pull down a thinner street on the outskirts of downtown. It's grimier down here, with older, much poorer-built houses. Crumbling walls, grafiti along the stop signs. Trash littering the streets. Wren can't help but notice how there's less surveillance down here, the streets emptier. The air is cooler, graver. “I can help. If you need me to.”

“No, don't.” Atlas shakes his head sharply, unbuckling his seatbelt. He offers them a sidelong glance that Wren is certain is supposed to be reassuring. “I should be fine.”

He climbs to the back, quickly leaning back beside them and offering them one of the walkie talkies. “I'll contact you when it's finished.”

Wren grabs the walkie-talkie Atlas hands them, gripping it tightly as they pull onto the side of the road to park. They chew at their lip, shooting him a worried look. “Be safe.”

He doesn't look back.

· · ───────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────────── · ·

Atlas doesn't have to run far. Darting out onto a different street, he sees a sleek black van creeping its way down the road, as inconspicuously as possible in the bright of midday. It holds all the trademarks of Eden, a van Atlas himself has seen probably a million times within his life inside the warehouse. He's been in a van the exact model, year, and deep ink shade himself too many times to count, whisked away on missions; he remembers how many times he sat squished between soldiers much taller and bigger than him, counting the bumps in the road and silently wishing to himself that he could look out some sort of window. Nevertheless, it leaves him certain: Eden has already found them.

It leaves him puzzled.

Sure, Eden belongs to only the best-of-the-best. He knows that better than anyone. But they'd barely been gone ten minutes, and what was nearly their exact location had been revealed. Even Atlas had never been that good. There was no way they could've placed trackers on them without even getting near. But then how…?

Atlas shakes the thought off. He needs to focus. There's a mission at hand, a danger presently before them, and that's all that matters right now. He would figure out the rest later, with these scouts carefully disposed of. He may not be following any specific orders right now, but nevermind that. He knows what must be done, what Wren needs, and so he'll execute it to perfection. He is a perfect soldier, and nothing, not even Eden, can take that away from him.

He won't allow them to even get near Wren.

He sits crouched, concealed from within the shadows, as the car stops to park, tucking itself into a shade underneath an outcropping of trees. From where he sits, he can just barely see the shadows of three people from within the tinted windows, his eyes squinted into slits to try and get a good view. He can't tell if there's others with them or not, his position not giving him much access to try and scope out his targets. Its a risky gamble, going in like this. Typically on missions he has more to go by, a better range of weapons. Going in empty handed is definitely not his first choice. But he's worked with less. It'll have to do.

He stalks across the street, keeping his eyes locked upon the three figures at all times. Inside, he can see what seems like the start of an argument forming. Two going back and forth with each other, their movements agitated. He almost laughs to himself. Their distraction is going to be their downfall. They should've known better.

Their loss.

Atlas blinks, strength surging into his vein. His blood seems to pump faster, vision sharpening, senses honing. It's a familiar feeling, yet one that feels as if its been absent for ages. The last time he trained was over a week now. The realization hits him like a slap to the face. Training used to be like a second sense to him. Since when did his life just… flip over on its side?

Stop that. Focus.

He bursts into action. Popping up on the side of the car, he uses the argument inside to his advantage, smashing the window in with one fatal punch. There's a surrounding gasp of confusion from inside, tumbling and scrambling that is no use from within the rather cramped vehicle. It's a deathtrap — small and constricting, soundproofed. It gives them no room to dodge or run, to avoid Atlas's attacks. It's just the thing he needs.

He wastes no time in beginning the slaughter. His hands wrap around the first's neck, disregarding whoever's face the body belongs to. In one swift motion, he twists, a sharp crack resounding through the chaos. The body beneath his fingers goes limp, dead.

He moves onto the next.

The second soldier scrambles to get out, fingers flailing as they reach for the door opposite to him. Atlas grunts, ducks deeper into the SUV. His hand closes around their wrist, squeezes. Bones crumble under his grip. The soldier lets out a hoarse scream, clawing at the door in desperation. Slow, insufficient, he thinks to himself, as he grips them by a chunk of their hair. They thrash, desperate to escape. And to think he had been beginning to worry that Eden would send someone skilled enough to put his skills to the test.

He slams their head against the window. Pulls back, slams it again. They're slow, disoriented. Can't think, can't move. Just what he needs. He pulls back again, listens to the hollow thud of their face against the door. Blood squirts against his hands. Again.

Their struggling ceases.

His eyes dart around the interior of the van, finding it empty. His eyes widen, and he quickly pulls himself back out of the window. A third. There was a third.

Shit, how could he have become so sloppy? He's always quick with it, efficient. He can't risk losing his third target. He can't let anyone escape. It's not just his life on the line. He glances around wildly, blood cold as ice. Finish the job, leave no witnesses. No one to report back to their master. Fuck. He needs to—

“Zieliński.”

A hand closes around the hem of his shirt. There's a whirl of motion and a glint of metal catches his eye, a spike of pain shooting into his collarbone. Blood soaks his shirt.

The very notion is so wrong it shouldn’t even be possible. Atlas is the perfect soldier, effortless with what he does. He’s fast, unrelenting. He’s untouchable. And yet he’s allowed himself to be snuck up on. It’s— It’s unacceptable.

He’s gone soft.

Atlas grunts, twisting as he sends a skillfully executed kick into their stomach. They stumble, knife clattering from their grip, and he pounces, eyes dilating. Be better. He shoves them against the van, body leaving dents within the side. Feels them struggle within his grip. But like the last, it's for naught.

The fight is over faster than it began.

· · ───────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────────── · ·

Wren doesn't know how they were so naive.

They knew from the start, this would end up like this, sooner or later. Eden, from all the evidence they had gathered, was not sloppy by any means. They had known from the start, getting him out was a risk within itself. He was special to them, and knowing Eden, they wouldn't allow their prize boy to disappear so easily.

They had known that sooner or later, they'd search for him. They just…

They didn't expect it to be so soon.

They'd gotten so caught up in their time with him, in how much fun it was — no, he was — that they'd forgotten about the looming threat that Eden held over them. Forgotten how deeply intertwined they'd become within the company. Forgot that now was when things would actually become serious. Because Eden was no longer a fantastical rumour they'd heard through the whispers in the dark. No, it was real, and it was scary, and it was after them.

They stare at the spot where Atlas once was, worrying at their bottom lip. God, they didn't think they had been prepared for this yet.

Part of them thought that maybe, just maybe, Eden wouldn't care. That they'd move on, forget about Atlas. Let him go, just this once. They almost had been able to trick themself into believing it, too. If only.

They suck in a sharp breath, steadying themself as they turn on the car again, pulling down a narrow alleyway and concealing it deep within the shadows. Worry settles deep inside their nerves and they slump further down in their seat. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Eyes focused on the walkie-talkie, silence stretching out inside the car, it hits them for the first time: They don't know what they'll do if they lose Atlas.

Shit.

Their mind swirls with a million different thoughts, all worse than the last, as the minutes tick by. They curl up their knees to their chest, don't look away from the walkie-talkie, not even when their eyes burn and strain. They're sure they could burn a hole through it with how intensely they glare, silently willing it to cooperate with them. The stupid communication device does not, however; staying still and silent in their hands.

They just pray Atlas's voice comes through it sooner than later.

Wren lets their head come to rest against the window with a light thunk. They gnaw at the inside of their cheek, lips pursed into a tight frown. They really don’t doubt Atlas’s abilities. They saw him in the training room, they saw his file. He’s good. Really good. They don't trust anyone but him to be able to protect them in case something ever goes wrong. But they don’t know who Eden sent after them, don't even know what they're capable of. For all Wren knows it could be someone better. Someone even Atlas can't dare face.

Yet even with the urge to go find him growing stronger and stronger by every passing second, they resist. Atlas is certain he can handle it, and so… they'll let him handle it. As much as it kills them. They will wait for him to get back. They'll trust he'll come back to them.

And so Wren waits. And waits… and waits. Okay, maybe they aren’t waiting that much but they are impatient and itching to hear Atlas call them to go get him. They've never so desperately wished to hear the deep rumble of his voice, soothing all of their worries. God, god, god. How could they be so stupid? How had they become so distracted that they didn’t even think about the fact that they were both technically in hiding?

Just as Wren thinks they'll explode or cry or scream or run out into the street in search of him, finally, a voice crackles through the speaker: “Wren?”

They just about drop the walkie-talkie as Atlas's voice fills the van, static screeching after him. Scrambling to sit up straight, device held close to their face, they breathe out his name.

“Atlas.” It shudders out of them, a sudden relief. “You good?”

"Yes." His response is quick. Wren takes that as a good sign. “Leave the van where you are and meet me by the black SUV just across the street. It’ll draw less attention that way.”

Wren nods before remembering Atlas can’t see them. “Right, I’m on my way now,” they say, throwing the door open and falling into a jog once they hit the street. Just down the block, as they round the corner, said black SUV comes into sight and Wren speeds up, breaking into a sprint, distractedly glancing down the street before crossing over to the vehicle.

They rip the passenger door open urgently, wide eyed as they find Atlas across from them. He's bleeding, hands slicked in red, face still blank. “What- what the fuck is that?” They hiss, pointing to the gash that has appeared just across his shoulder blade, oozing blood down the front of his shirt.

“A minor wound.” Atlas tells them, not looking up. “The rest of the blood isn’t mine.” He motions for them to climb in. “We need to find a place to dump the bodies and get rid of this van.” He says, brushing past his injury. Typical.

Wren blinks at Atlas before rubbing a hand down their face. They're not why they expected any less from Mister ‘I-don't-feel-pain’. “Shit, okay, we’ll take care of that later,” they say, still eyeing the wound. They glance towards the back of the vehicle where they can assume the bodies are. “How many?”

“Three.” Atlas tells them. For the first time they notice the file in his hands, smeared with blood. They don't comment on it — they don't need to. It's evidence enough. This is only the beginning of something much more gruesome. Something Wren has been trying to push out of their mind since they left with him. Eden is officially after them.

Wren lets out a low breath and nods. “All right. Switch places with me. There’s a dump at the edge of town. We’ll light this thing on fire there.”

· · ───────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────────── · ·

“Let me see it.”

Atlas sits on the edge of the van floor, legs planted against the cement, now speckled with droplets of blood. The black SUV sits just out of view, parked just far enough for him to still keep an eye on it. Wren sits beside him, focus not on the van but instead on his face. They examine him, eyes softer than usual, the skin torn right off their lip from how much they've been chewing away at it. Atlas knows that's probably not a good sign, but unsure of exactly what to say, he lets the silence linger between them, putting all of his own attention to the mission.

He needs to get fixed up, and then they need to rid themselves of the bodies. The rest they can figure out later.

Wren's hand rests against his chest for a minute longer, their touch tender, gentle, before they're pulling away. They frown, busying themself with digging through the contents of a white med kit, which they have stuffed to the brim with an assortment of medical supplies. Its a few more seconds of rummaging before they grunt, producing a small needle, a spool of surgical suture, a bottle of disinfectant, and a cotton ball.

Scooting closer towards him, they douse the cotton ball in disinfectant, gesturing for Atlas to move his shirt out of the way. He automatically moves in response, wincing slightly despite himself as he slides down the collar of his shirt, revealing a large slice against his collarbone. He tenses as they bring the cotton ball closer. Wren sighs as they get a better view of the injury, their eyebrows creasing. “This will hurt.” They warn.

Without hesitation, they press the cotton ball to the wound and dab it clean, the disinfectant sizzling against his skin in a way that sends sharp pricks of pain shooting to his chest. He endures it, quiet, holding still as can be for them. This is nothing new, nothing unknown. He's faced thousands of injuries over the years. A little scratch he can handle.

When the wound is clean Wren threads the needle, pressing it to his skin. They pause momentarily, glancing up warily at him to check his reaction, before quickly piercing his skin and beginning the stitches. To their credit, they're quite skilled. They're quick with it, fingers working rather expertly for someone so young. Atlas could almost say he's impressed.

He makes not a peep as they finish off, tying the string and cutting it, his own eyes still watching the alleyway for any signs of incoming intruders. Wren huffs, pleased, nodding at their work before grabbing up a roll of bandages. “Lift your arm," they instruct. “I need to wrap this around your shoulder.”

They make fast work of wrapping the bandage over his shoulder, covering the wound. As soon as they finish, they shove the supplies back into the first aid kit and are making their way back to the SUV. “Alright, let's get going.”

Atlas shuts the van door behind him, joining them in the passenger seat beside them, silent as they drive. The air is thick and packed with tension inside the car, the stench of death that has begun to work its way to the front weighing on the both of them heavily. With every bump, turn, and twist in the road, the bodies stacked behind them loll and thump, a hollow, ghastly sound. There isn't even the dull distraction of a radio to save them this time.

Atlas's eyes are narrow as he stares straight ahead. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get so distracted. He knows better than this — should know. The only reason he's made it thus far in life is because of the constant work he puts himself through. Constant training, exercise, tests. To hone both his mental and physical capabilities to perfection, this has been the only way he has known. Its why Eden is so good, and why they'll be such an indomitable foe. The rulebook each and every person inside there lives by, the labour they put themselves through… It's like no other. He would know this better than anyone else. Slacking off, lazing around, it gets you nowhere in life.

He needs to keep training if he wants to live, if he wants to protect his newfound freedom. If he wants to protect Wren. Eating, resting, living in such carefree blithe… it'll erase any chance of survival he has left.

“Did you know any of them? The soldiers?”

Wren's question pulls him back to reality. He blinks, forces the blurry faces that pop up within an instant out of his mind. They're unimportant, meaningless. He shouldn't think about it.

He shakes his head. “I wasn't really allowed to interact with those in my class or outside it. Cato said having too many complicated relationships would just distract me from my goal.” He swallows, and the nape of his neck burns hotter than ever. “They mean nothing to me.”

It's not exactly a lie.

Wren scoffs at his answer, grip on the steering wheel tightening. Tires screech against the asphault, the SUV groaning as they increase their speed. “Okay. Makes this easier then.”

Wren merges onto the highway, passing nearby cars around them as they clench their fists around the steering wheel. “We'll need to find a way to get back to the van.” They say, changing the subject and shifting uncomfortably in their seat. The uncleaned shards of glass from earlier still litter around their feet.

They chew at the inside of their cheek, drumming their fingers against the leather of the wheel. “I'd say the subway is the safest bet. It'll be quicker than the bus.”

Atlas nods. He's taken neither. “Alright.”

By the time they reach the dump, the sun is setting and the blood sticking to Atlas has dried up completely, leaving his skin feeling strangely raw and dry. Wren pulls into the site with a fair amount of ease, the place not one of high quality. The gates must have once had a lock but have long been open, and Wren is able to push through them and into the dump yard.

They drive around for a quick second, maneuvering around piles of garbage amongst other things, before finally settling themself behind a towering mound of junk, parking and quickly climbing out. Atlas follows suit, meeting them out back.

They've already opened the trunk, where the bodies have been set. Their eyes are focused on it for a split second too long, that same wary expression passing over their face, before they're quickly brushing past it, reaching towards the blood-slicked knife Atlas left discarded in the back. They shut the trunk, taking in an even breath before turning towards him, jaw set. “I'm going to cut the fuel line and light it.”

He gives them a nod, still quiet. Steps back as they drop to their stomach, scooting under the vehicle. There breeze blows, gentle, and Atlas finds himself shivering a bit, mouth dry. His collarbone is a steady ache, a constant reminder of his failure. His deterioration, his near loss. He doesn't allow himself to ignore it.

Atlas watches as Wren crawls out from beneath the car and fire licks the sides, going up in a flurry of flickering orange. He wonders how many times they'll have to do this.

── ⟡ ˙

Previous 〃 Next

TAGLIST › @ohagiwrites @oros-ash3s @seastarblue @vesanal @bioniclechronicles @seastarblue @gr3yhellh0und @aalinaaaaaa @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @nightmaricwriter @cepheusgalaxy @cacophonyofwords @theink-stainedfolk @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @write-with-will

⭑⭒ Send an ask or dm to be added or removed from the taglist

A big thanks to @ohagiwrites for helping me write this chapter ⋆˚࿔

They toss a large, empty red duffle bag near his feet, one that looks as if it’s been rotting underneath the van floor for the past decade. Atlas fights the urge to wrinkle his nose as the ghastly scent of it reaches his nostrils, instead accepting it with a grateful thanks. 

“You can put your clothes inside it.” Wren says with a nod, relaxing into their position besides him. 

He offers them what must be the ghost of a smile, slightly touched by the gesture. Wren has become almost warm to him, something he finds to be quite fine, all things considered. He gathers up his neat pile of clothes from his little corner, beginning to carefully tuck them all in. Unbeknownst to him, his old green uniform slips in, buried within the layers of fresh clothes. 

He zips it closed, tucking it into the corner once more. 

Wren smiles, leaning closer towards him. “Now,” they say. “Wanna get some more stuff to put in it?” 

Atlas’s answer is instant. “You don’t have to.” 

Wren shakes their head and gestures a hand at him, already climbing into the front. “I know. But, I mean— like, you seriously need something more than just clothes, y’know?” 

“If you feel it’s necessary.” Atlas allows, following them towards the front with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “What would you like to get?” 

Wren huffs and shakes their head. “No, what do you want?” They correct, a slight edge in their voice this time. “We can walk around shops and go into whatever ones you want. Just pick stuff out.” 

Atlas picks at the hem of his shirt hesitantly. “I don’t want to clutter your van with a bunch of my belongings.” 

Wren rolls their eyes at him as they start the van. “Dude, you think I care about clutter?” They ask, gesturing to the mess around them. “It’s better than the barren room you had.” 

“Besides,” they emphasize, gesturing between the two of them, “It’s our van now.” 

Atlas is slightly persuaded by Wren’s words, perking up a bit. “Okay. I guess we could pick up some books.” He decides. “I do like to read.” 

Wren grins and nods. “Well that’s more like it! There’s a bookstore by that bistro we went to, let’s go there.” 

Atlas nods. “Alright.” He agrees, glancing back out the window as Wren speeds up the car and they glide down the street. 

The drive to downtown is as short as always and soon, Wren is parked outside the bistro, pointing at the shop right beside it. “It looks pretty quiet. That’s nice.” 

The building is fairly short and stout, tucked in beside the busy bistro, which is over capacity from the lunch rush. Atlas is glad to not be stepping inside there, as the bookstore offers just the kind of solitary peace that he likes. 

They’re greeted to the sweet chime of a bell over the door. 

The interior is small, but cozy. Plush seats are fitted in between wooden shelves, the scent of paper and ink instantly detectable from the minute they step inside. “Woah, it’s cute,” Wren comments, glancing all around. 

Atlas is in awe. Completely unlike the library they had at the warehouse, where most of his knowledge of books comes from. Eden was all dark and gloomy, decorations an afterthought. This library is lively, with soft pastel colours, potted plants, and picture frames adorning the walls. Even without a busy clientele, the place feels so much more welcoming and homey than Atlas ever felt inside Eden. The stark contrast is a shock, to say the least. 

Wren glances in his direction. “Pretty cool, huh?” They ask with a smile, making their way over to a section labelled above as sci-fi. 

Atlas follows along. “Yeah, it is.” He agrees, glancing around at the wide selection of books. It’s remarkable, really. A line books in shades of all kinds of different colours and spines of wide mass of different widths, this store seems to have everything. Atlas can’t help but think once again, how anti-Eden it is. Everything Wren shows him is, to be honest. 

Wren hums and runs their fingers along the spines of books at their eye level. “What sort of books do you like?” 

“Encyclopedias.” 

Wren’s brows raise and they can’t help but smile. “What? Really? Have you ever read anything else?” 

“Hmm, history textbooks, there were lots of those available.” Atlas replies, listing on his fingers. “And there were a couple of memoirs of past important figures in Eden that I read, too. Mainly non-fiction.” 

Wren tilts their head to the side, humming. “Oh. Well that sounds boring. You don’t like fantasy or mystery or anything like that?” 

“We didn’t have those at the warehouse. It would be too distracting,” Atlas explains. “Give us the wrong idea.” 

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” Wren mutters, scowling. They clap their hands together, turning on him suddenly. “That’s going to change today. Come on.” 

They tug at his sleeve, leading him down the aisles to the fantasy section. “We’ll start here.” 

Atlas follows along, looking around at the section. These books aren’t anything like he’s seen before; instead of the boring hard covers, they all display bright scenes on theirs, full of eye-catching colours.

Wren plucks a book off of the shelf. “This one’s a classic. Doomed siblings. Superheroes and aliens. Betrayal. They fight a bunch of bad guys.” They explain, pressing the book into his hands. “It’s pretty cool.” 

“Okay.” Atlas mutters, taking the book from them and glancing at the back, eyes scanning the synopsis. Wren nods, satisfied, and continues down the aisle, every now and then sliding a book out, quickly skimming it, and then putting it back into place. 

Atlas tucks the first book under his armpit, following suit as he looks through the selection of books, slowly and methodically picking through ones that most interest him. He thoroughly reads through each synopsis, eying the cover and title with precision, making sure that each book he finds will keep him entertained and satisfied. But, having never read any books outside of Eden before, he’s pretty sure that even a children’s book would be entertaining enough for him. 

“Let me know when you have what you want.” Wren says, wandering down into a different section of the store. He gives them an “okay” nod, going back to sorting through the fantasy aisle’s books. 

After quite a while of searching, he’s found a few books that sound interesting, and so, new pile in tow, wanders back through the aisles to find Wren again. 

Wren is squatting down, looking through the comics on the lowest shelf of the Comics and Graphic Novels section. They smile when they see him, sizing up the collection of books in his hands. “Nice haul. You ready?” 

“Yes.” Atlas nods. “Did you get anything for yourself?” He asks curiously, tilting his head. 

“Yep!” Wren nods, waving their comic wrapped in pristine plastic. “Elseworlds: Batman. Its volume 2.” They explain, presenting it to him with a proud smile. 

Atlas blinks at the cover. “Batman?” He echoes. 

Wren nods and tucks the cover under their arm. “He’s a superhero. No powers though, just a bunch of gadgets. That’s why he’s cool. He just punches shit. This is a special edition though,” they say, gravitating towards the checkout. “He’s a vampire in this one.” 

With a shrug, Wren sets the comic down in front of the cashier, gesturing for Atlas to do the same. “You can read it when I’m done.” 

Atlas sets down his pile of books. “Okay.” He agrees, looking down at the cover of the comic again as the cashier scans their items. 

Wren grins, pulling out their wallet and producing a roll of cash. The transaction is quick and soon the cashier is wishing them a good day as Wren grabs their bag of books and hands it to Atlas to carry. “Well now you own some stuff.” 

“Yeah.” Atlas murmurs, and he almost smiles.

He feels strangely… proud about it. 

· · ───────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────────── · ·

“Woo, I’m tired.”  Wren claps their hands together, relaxing further into the backseat. “Book shopping is lots of work.” They say, clearly not actually any less energized than before they entered the shop. They smile at the boy, tossing their comics onto the floor and letting out a huff of air. 

The boy gives them what must be his best attempt at a smile back — face pinching together as the corner of his mouth turns upwards. It’s awkward, and weird, and alien. A smile of someone who has never truly smiled much in their life. Yet to Wren, it’s a victory, their chest swelling at the sign of anything other than the glares he had once given them. 

They pop up from their spot, grinning wide. “You know what we need?” 

Throwing some of their cluttered mess of stuff around, they clear the space where two wooden crates sit, stacked on top of each other and originally having been used as shelving for all of Wren’s miscellaneous items. 

“We can put all of our stuff in here.” They say, picking one up and setting it down flat in front of the boy. “We can write our names on them with markers, and draw on them too. That would be cute.” 

“Thank you.” The boy mumbles, feeling along the ridges of the wood. He carefully picks up his rather thick stack of books, beginning to sort through them and place them in a proper order inside. 

Wren smiles, clapping him on the back before twisting their body through to the front seat. “I think I have markers on one of the compartments somewhere…” They call, plopping into their seat and digging through one of the bins. 

The boy is instantly behind them, following suit as he begins to methodically rummage through Wren’s stuff alongside them. “I can help you look.” 

Wren nods, starting the van quickly and pulling out onto the street. As they drive off, they lean over, distractedly gesturing. “Yeah, there should be a button somewhere under that you can press. It’ll just pop right open.” 

The boy nods, leaning forwards and finally clicking open the front compartment. He starts to comb through it, fingers sorting through the disarray. 

It takes some time, but within twenty minutes, all of Wren’s scattered art supplies have been successfully gathered, the van now sitting, parked, in the back of a rather empty lot. Wren sits in the back of the van, legs spread out wide with their crate as they lean on their mass of pillows and plushies. The boy sits across from them, posture straight as ever, as he stares down at his own crate like it’s some sort of challenge, the markers all spread out in between them, just waiting to be used. 

Rubbing their hands together, Wren starts; abruptly swooping over and snatching a thick blue marker from the pile. They uncap it with their teeth, tilting the crate slightly as they begin, printing out their name in big, blocky letters. 

The boy is still for a moment longer, before slowly picking up a bright red marker of his own and beginning to sketch designs into the side of his crate. He’s methodical about it, carefully creating different swoops and swirls along the edges, leaving a large space for where his name will go. 

Wren draws a scattering of little stars and squiggles around their name, before rotating the crate on its side and beginning more doodles there. With the gentle sound of one of their CD’s playing in the background, and the scratching of the markers upon the wood, they couldn’t be having a better time. The boy has truly become just the kind of company they needed. They can’t even imagine going back to the time where the van was an empty, lonely space. His presence has become interwoven within it. It’s unforgettable. 

The van, after over a year, has finally become something like home. 

Wren hums happily to themself as they add the finishing touches, doodling little swirls and stars. They finish with a little drawing of the boy and them as tiny cartoon people giving each other a thumbs up. Holding the crate up close, they admire their work proudly. 

“All finished!” They grin, pushing it towards the boy for him to see. 

The boy glances at it and gives a nod of acknowledgement. “It looks nice.” He says, leaning over his own crate to pick up a thick black sharpie, starting on the last touches to his own design. 

Wren’s smile spreads wider at the praise, as they give him a confident huff and sharp nod. “Damn right it does!” They push their crate to the side, leaning forward and trying to peek at their partner’s. “Lemme seeeeee.” They whine, craning their neck. 

“Be patient,” the boy tells them, maneuvering his body to block their view. “I’m not done yet.” He bows his head down low, slowly drawing on the last few strokes of his name, everything done with careful precision. Wren almost dies from the suspense of it all. 

But finally he sets the cap back on his sharpie, placing it down in front of him and looking up at them. “Finished.” He declares, eyes shining. Slow and steady, he flips the crate around to face them, showing off his handiwork with pride. His name pops out at them in big, black block letters. 

Atlas. 

“I guessed it was finally time for you to learn my name,” the boy, no— Atlas, says, shooting them another one of his half-smiles. “Since we’re partners now.” 

Wren’s pout flips into the widest grin you’ve ever seen. They stare at him, eyes crinkling, excitement thrumming in their bones, their chest puffing from the way he calls them partners. The word repeats in their mind, the sound of something fresh and new. The sound of something they’ve always wanted. They’re quiet for a long stretch of time, soaking in the pure elation of this moment. This perfect minute, shared between just the two of them. 

Then at once, a thought occurs to them, and they snort. Staring into his eyes, they mutter, “Atlas and Willow….” 

Atlas’s cheeks go pink, teeth showing as his smile widens. “I couldn’t think of another name.” He mutters, sheepish. 

Wren tips their head back and they can’t help the fond laugh that leaves them. They suddenly straighten their posture and push their arm straight out, offering their hand to Atlas. “Well!” They grin, wide and true and happy. “Nice to meet you, Atlas.” 

Atlas shakes their hand with a nice, firm grip. They didn’t expect anything less. “It’s nice to meet you too.” He tells them.

Wren is grinning ear to ear, all teeth and squinted eyes as Atlas shakes their hand. “Am I allowed to call us friends now then? Or is it still too soon?”

“I suppose we’re kind of like friends now.” Atlas replies thoughtfully. “Only my friends know my first name.”

Wren crosses their arms and gives him a firm nod. “Alright. We’re friends. Hey, you’re the first friend I’ve made in a while.”

“Likewise.” Atlas smiles. 

It feels like everything they’ve ever been waiting for. 

── ⟡ ˙

Previous 〃 Next

TAGLIST › @ohagiwrites @oros-ash3s @seastarblue @vesanal @bioniclechronicles @gr3yhellh0und @aalinaaaaaa @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @nightmaricwriter @cepheusgalaxy @cacophonyofwords @theink-stainedfolk @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @write-with-will

⭑⭒. Send an ask or dm to be added or removed from the taglist

A big thanks to @ohagiwrites for helping me write this chapter ⋆˚࿔