3.2.7

Content warnings: passive suicidal ideation, panic attack, torture mention (detail below; skip if you prefer surprises)

• Passive suicidal ideation in two forms: characters not expecting to live beyond a certain age and characters barely having a will to live

• Panic attack in response to remembering being tortured in the past

~.~

After hearing Morgan’s story about Spain, Ilia had volunteered to get dinner for the group. She knew already that Auster had not cooked anything—he was probably still figuring out his powers—and everyone else seemed too drained to cook, so takeout seemed like the best option.

Ilia was tired, too, but her powers would at least provide some level of protection against the Soul Stealers (in theory), so it made the most sense for her to go—and once Ilia pointed that out, Morgan volunteered to tag along, and that was that.

As it turned out, Morgan and Ilia were probably the two worst people to make decisions about takeout. Morgan always frequented the same five places—all of which were solidly in Red Scorpions territory—and Ilia had been frozen in time long enough that nothing was as she remembered it. And neither Morgan nor Ilia had any real preferences for cuisine, either.

In the end, Morgan pointed to a random city on a U.S. map, Ilia found a Mexican place from an online search, and they decided to go from there.

Morgan had chosen a city in Southern California, and when the pair arrived, it was already dark out. The side street they landed in was lit by neon signs and scattered streetlamps, and as they stepped out onto the main road, they were greeted by a concrete jungle reminiscent of Houston—albeit much more crowded. The sidewalks were wide, and the roads were tightly packed with cars, filling the air with the ambience of rush hour traffic.

Ilia would have found the bustle overwhelming, once, but she had learned to ignore her future visions, and that allowed her to soak in the normalcy of men with briefcases hurrying past ambling teenagers while a group of college kids at a nearby bench laughed over cheap pizza. It made her heart ache with longing for what she could not have—but it was comforting, too, to watch the earth continue to spin.

As Morgan and Ilia arrived at the restaurant, the chill of the descending nightfall sent a shiver down Ilia’s spine—and then seconds later, the temperature around them rose to more comfortable levels, courtesy of Morgan.

“Thanks,” Ilia murmured, giving Morgan a grateful smile.

“Oh, um, don’t worry about it,” Morgan said quickly. There was a slight flush in her cheeks, and she sounded flustered, as if she hadn’t expected any gratitude. Ilia bit back a smile as she turned her attention to the restaurant in front of them.

Ilia was not stupid. She had noticed how quickly Morgan had cozied up to her. It was… a little confusing, honestly, because Ilia knew from years of shared dreams that Morgan was slow to trust and even slower to make friends, and three days spent surviving Dimension X together shouldn’t have made that much of a difference.

Maybe she just sees herself in you, Ilia’s soul splinter crooned. She sees how pathetic and weak you are, and it reminds her of her own helplessness.

Ilia decided to accept that explanation, because she really didn’t have the bandwidth to consider the alternative.

“So,” Ilia started. She squinted at the brick pillar in front of them, on which an abbreviated menu was posted. “There are a couple of options here, I think. For eleven people, it’ll probably work best if we order one or two things in bulk—I’m thinking queso, salsa, and then a couple of types of enchiladas, maybe.”

“That sounds good,” Morgan agreed. “We can get some vegetarian options that way, too. But it looks like there are… a lot of types of enchiladas.”

“Yeah,” Ilia groaned. “There are. I think the ranchero, suizas, and verdes sound the best, but we should probably pick just two to make things easy.”

“Uhhh, I don’t really know much about this,” Morgan said with a frown. “But I like enchiladas verdes. We can flip a coin between the other two.”

“Oh! That’s a good idea, actually.” Ilia fished around in her pockets until she found what she was looking for: a simple leather wallet containing a few dollar bills, a credit card, and a handful of coins.

“I didn’t know you carried a wallet,” Morgan remarked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t,” Ilia said casually. She withdrew a quarter from the wallet, then slipped it back in her pocket. “Peter gave it to me and told me to do whatever I wanted with it, and I decided not to question where he got it or who he stole it from.”

“Of course he did,” Morgan muttered. “Did you know that he stole my fucking credit card and used it to buy lunch? And he had the audacity to pretend he was innocent when I caught him putting my credit card back.”

Ilia laughed. “That sounds like Peter, all right. So—heads for ranchero, tails for enchiladas suizas?”

“Sure, whatever,” Morgan said with a shrug. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

Ilia balanced the quarter on her fingernail, ready to flick it into the air—and then, without warning, the coin just… flipped. It didn’t fly into the air, or anything dramatic; it was as if someone had turned the coin over like a playing card, and now tails was on top.

“Sooooo, that’s not normal,” Morgan noted, inspecting the coin with a frown. “Is that something you’re supposed to be able to do?”

“No,” Ilia grumbled. “It’s not.”

She stared at the coin, focusing once again on her intent to flip it—and sure enough, the coin flipped to show heads this time.

“Well, that’s just great,” Ilia said miserably. She tossed the coin to Morgan. “You flip it, since my powers seem to be against the idea of fast decision-making.”

“Uh, okay.” Morgan launched the coin into the air, like a normal person, and when she caught it, she lifted her hand to reveal heads.

“Right. Ranchero it is, then,” Ilia sighed. “Do you want to go place the order, or should I?”

“I’ll go,” Morgan offered, handing the coin back to Ilia. “Since I have a credit card that wasn’t illegally obtained.”

With one last worried look in Ilia’s direction, Morgan slipped into the restaurant, leaving Ilia alone with her thoughts.

Ilia stared at the coin in her hand with a contemplative frown. What Karyme had said at lunch, about Ilia being able to convert Yaran’s power to Karai’s somehow—that made sense, but she couldn’t connect that to this coin flipping business at all. It just seemed like two discrete data points with no line between them.

“I… know you’re upset about your powers.”

Morgan’s voice, gentle though it was, startled Ilia so badly that she almost dropped the coin. She hadn’t even noticed Morgan return.

“It sucks to not have all the answers,” Morgan continued, leaning against the brick pillar. “But it’s not all bad. At least The Necromancer also doesn’t understand your whole deal.”

“What?” Ilia’s frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

“It’s like—remember at lunch, when Joel called you The Necromancer’s kryptonite?” Morgan asked, glancing at Ilia. Ilia nodded. “You’re his fatal weakness. And if I knew someone had the power to fuck me up, I’d want to wipe them off the map as soon as possible.”

“I already know he wants me dead,” Ilia said glumly, kicking the ground. “It’s a wonder he hasn’t already succeeded.”

“No, it makes sense,” Morgan countered, shaking her head. “He’s able to neutralize the rest of us because he knows what he can do. But in Tunisia today, he was so taken off guard by your power that he lost—and that probably knocked some fear into his scrawny ass. He’s not going to be able to do shit against you until he knows what you’re really capable of.”

“But I don’t know what I’m capable of,” Ilia groaned. “I know my powers are like. Weirdly effective against him. But if I can’t use them on purpose, then what’s the point?”

“I… wish I had an answer.” Morgan shoved their hands in the pockets of their jacket as they gazed out at the street. “I feel the same way about my powers, honestly. Like… I can use lightning and wind. But it feels—accidental, still. Unstable. And there’s probably more I can do that I’m just not aware of—and if I had a better grasp on this, I would be more useful in a fight.”

Morgan’s stormy blue eyes were like puddles on asphalt, catching light from nearby streetlamps and flashing signs, and yet the light never revealed their true depth. It was strikingly beautiful, even though red-rimmed glasses buffered the effect a little. Morgan didn’t wear her glasses all the time, but they now served to accentuate the soft furrow in her brow and the downward curve of her mouth—more relaxed from her normal scowl.

As inspiring as it was to watch Morgan try to destroy mountains, Ilia cherished these moments of vulnerability, because it felt like they were reserved only for her.

“We’re all still learning,” Morgan said quietly. “Rae’s only really had xyr powers for a month. Juli learned new shit about their powers last week. So, um. You’re not alone.”

“I… guess that’s true,” Ilia said haltingly. “I still don’t like the uncertainty, but you’re right—I’m being hard on myself. And with two immortals back, maybe things won’t rest so heavily on me.”

It was a comforting thought. Both immortals were half dead, sure, but having two corporeal protectors instead of some sort of vague and unpredictable bracelet-fueled guardianship was nice.

There was a sudden buzzing sound, snapping Ilia out of her thoughts. Morgan frowned at the flashing pager in her hand—presumably provided by the restaurant.

“Food’s ready?” Ilia guessed.

“Yep.” Morgan kicked away from the pillar she was leaning on. “Before I forget—Karyme couldn’t tell you much about your powers, but you could ask Haku. That bastard knows everything.”

Ilia laughed. It wasn’t a bad idea, really—though Haku probably wouldn’t tell her anything.

“I’ll give it a shot,” Ilia decided, turning towards the restaurant doors. “For now, let’s go get the food—everyone’s probably waiting.”

~.~

Dani had been keeping a close eye on Lian. The progression in their mood from bubbly optimism to forced cheer to quiet despondence to horrified silence was disconcerting—but also understandable, given the last two days, so Dani had hoped that time and rest would do the trick.

But Lian’s actions in Haku’s mind pushed Dani to reconsider. Lian’s horror after pruning the first thorn from Haku’s death flower was normal enough, but their attempt to snip a second thorn without asking for help was just plain stupid. That kind of martyrdom needed to be addressed—and so Dani set off on a mission to corner Lian.

Dani half expected to have to break into Lian’s room to talk to them, so it was a pleasant surprise to find Lian in the living room instead. They were sitting on the middle couch, staring dazedly at the blank TV screen.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dani asked.

Lian snapped to attention, so startled that they almost jumped off the couch. They relaxed slightly upon catching sight of Dani, but not much—their face settled into a forced neutrality, masking any signs of negativity.

“Sorry to startle you. You just seemed to be deep in thought, and I was wondering if something was bothering you,” Dani said mildly.

He took a seat on the couch to the left of Lian’s—partly to prevent them from feeling boxed in and partly to give Dani a better read on their body language. The angle between the two couches still left Lian within arm’s reach if they decided to flee.

“My thoughts aren’t—it’s nothing,” Lian said miserably, staring intently at the floor.

“Nothing,” Dani said flatly. “Lian. You have got to become a better liar if you want to say shit like that.”

“It’s… really not a problem.”

Dani had a feeling this was going to go nowhere fast if he didn’t take a more aggressive approach.

“All right, look. I have eyes and I’m not stupid, so I can tell you’re upset,” Dani said, voice full of exasperation. “Normally I’d leave the comforting to someone else. But Joel is trying to help Joshua through a panic attack, Rae is talking Juli down from a cliff, Morgan and Ilia went to get dinner for the rest of us, I don’t know where Karyme and Auster are, and Peter can’t comfort people for shit.”

“So,” Dani continued, injecting her tone with as much steel as she could muster, “you’re left with me. And unfortunately for you, I’m one of the most stubborn motherfuckers here, and I won’t leave until I get the truth. So start talking.”

“I’m just tired,” Lian mumbled. “Today has been a lot. Auster getting kidnapped, and Kai’s memories, and Peter jumping into the ocean, and Haku’s memories—it’s just a lot.”

“A lot,” Dani repeated, crossing his legs. “I took a page from Peter’s book and asked Ilia about what you saw in Kai’s head. You were pretty freaked out at lunch, and I figured it would be good to know why. And, well, that shit with Kai and Ven being murdered sounds horrifying.”

“But, the gloom and doom you’ve got on your face right now—it’s different from what you had at lunch,” Dani noted, leaning back in his seat. “I think that right now, you’re upset because this stuff is hurting you more than you think it should. Those terrible visions in Haku’s head, Peter’s jump into the ocean, Joshua and Auster’s suffering—it’s eating at you, and you feel like that makes you weak.”

Lian’s gaze snapped up to meet Dani’s, and their eyes were wide with alarm, like a wild animal ready to bolt. Dani sighed. She hadn’t expected to hit the nail on the head that quickly, but throw enough spaghetti at the wall and some of it would eventually stick.

“Let me just say it plainly: you should feel sick to your stomach after all the shit you’ve seen in the last two days. Any normal person would,” Dani said evenly.

“But—but you didn’t!” Lian stammered. “When Peter jumped into the ocean, and you held me back and didn’t let me jump after him, you were so—so calm! We waited for so long, and through it all you were somehow so sure that Peter would be okay. And the vision in Haku’s head, with the thorn—I know you saw something just as bad as me, but you hardly freaked out at all!”

“That’s why I said any normal person,” Dani said dryly. “People like Peter and me—we’re fucked in the head. You can’t use us as a litmus test.”

“Don’t say that!” Lian cried. “You’re not—”

“Not what? Twisted?” Dani let out a mirthless laugh. “Let’s start with your first point, then. You said I was unnaturally calm when Peter took his little death dive—but there was a reason for that. Yesterday, in the infirmary, when Peter and I talked, I realized that he’s not selfish, and he’s not reckless without a cause. He’s just goal-oriented. The mustard, the jokes, the swimsuit, the chaos—it’s all a game of misdirection to help him get what he wants and to keep the rest of us out of his way, because until we accept the harsh reality we’re in? We’re just liabilities to him.”

“That’s—”

“Fucked. Exactly.” Dani’s gaze fell to her hands. “And I’m messed up for being able to understand it. When Peter jumped into the ocean and then cut off his only line of communication—when Karyme couldn’t see him anymore and Ilia couldn’t sense him—I wasn’t even worried. Mad, maybe, but not worried, because I knew instantly that he wouldn’t have taken such a risk without a plan, and if any of us followed him, we’d just be fucking it up. So I forced myself to wait for 20 miserable minutes, even though we couldn’t tell if Peter was dead or alive.”

“I—” Lian swallowed. “I wish I could be like that. I couldn’t even think straight long enough to do anything except cry. Peter’s right: I am a liability.”

“No, you’re not,” Dani said firmly. “You’re just not good at staying calm when people you care about are in danger. People have different strengths, and that isn’t one of yours.”

“But it should be!”

Dani let out an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, new topic. Lian, where do you see yourself in ten years?”

“Oh, um, I—that’s a big question,” Lian said hesitantly. “I guess I’ll have a house, and maybe my own music school—or I’ll just be teaching where I do now, but that wouldn’t be so bad. I’ll be better friends with Joshua and Auster, probably, and maybe I’ll even be able to reconnect with my parents—but that’s a stretch.”

“Right. Notice that for all of those to be true, you have to be alive,” Dani noted. “When I ask you that question, you automatically assume that ten years from now, you’ll be alive and happy and able to achieve the things you want.”

“Why would I think any differently?” Lian said slowly, a frown spreading across their face. “What other answer is there?”

“If you’d asked Peter where he’d be in ten years, he would’ve said dead,” Dani said bluntly. “And me—when I saw the petals on that flower in Haku’s head, I couldn’t believe there was a future where I lived to be so old. People like me, Peter, Juli, Morgan—we don’t have ten year goals, because mafia rats don’t make it that far.”

“Oh,” Lian breathed, eyes wide with horror. “Oh, god, Dani—”

“I’m not fishing for your pity,” Dani interrupted. “What I’m trying to say here is that people like me are able to stay calm in the face of danger because we don’t expect to live very long anyway. Danger is all relative to survival instinct, you know? But that kind of short-sighted thinking leads to reckless and insensitive behavior, and that can be dangerous. Whereas you…”

Lian’s face still spelled uncertainty, and they seemed to shrink under Dani’s gaze.

“You’re not holding us back, Lian,” Dani said firmly, enunciating each and every word. “We need normal folks like you around. People like you, Karyme, Joel, Auster—you remind us that being needlessly reckless isn’t worth it.”

“But I couldn’t stop Peter,” Lian said bitterly.

“Maybe not,” Dani admitted. “But did you see his face when he got back and saw that you were crying?”

“I—” Lian’s face scrunched up in thought. “I guess… he looked kind of surprised? I thought he was just disoriented or something, but—”

“He didn’t expect you to cry for him,” Dani cut in. “In the mafia, the only person who suffers when you get hurt is you—no one mourns and no one cares. But here, any time someone gets hurt, one of you normal folk always gets mad or guilty or upset and that’s—it’s a reminder to be more careful so I don’t hurt other people with my pain.”

“Anyone could do that, though,” Lian mumbled. “I don’t think I’m anything that special.”

“Lian.” Dani rolled her eyes. “We don’t got ‘just anyone’ sitting here, do we? We’ve got you. I’m not saying you’re the chosen hero or whatever—I’m just saying that you have a role on this team, and it’s not the same as my role, and that’s fine. If you don’t believe me, ask Joshua—he’d tell you the same damn thing.”

Invoking Joshua’s name was kind of a low blow, but it worked—Lian’s sullen frown shifted into more of an indignant pout, and a red tinge colored their cheeks.

“Joshua doesn’t count! He’s—” A frown crossed Lian’s face. “You forgot to mention him in your lists just now. Rae and Ilia, too.”

“My lists?” Dani raised an eyebrow. “Are you deflecting?”

“No, no, this is actual curiosity,” Lian said quickly. “Earlier, when you were talking about people who are, um, reckless and require a little extra reminding, you listed yourself, Peter, Morgan, and Juli. And then when you listed normal people, you named me, Karyme, Auster, and Joel. But you left Joshua, Ilia, and Rae out.”

“Oh, I guess I did,” Dani said with a shrug. “It wasn’t intentional—just a reflection of how I think of them, I guess. Ilia’s like—she lived nineteen years as a civilian, so the way she thinks is pretty normal, but it’s probably hard to visualize a future for yourself when you don’t have a place in the mortal world anymore, and she has guaranteed eternal life, so she’ll probably end up being more reckless than all of us combined.”

“She does have a place,” Lian said stubbornly. “With us.”

“You can tell her that, then,” Dani said with a chuckle. “She’ll take it better from you than from me. As for the other two…”

Dani paused. The point of the initial analogy had been to differentiate civilians with long-term goals from people whose scars prevented them from thinking ahead—but with these two, the analogy failed completely, in part because of the intense anger both of them carried.

Joshua’s anger was so fervent, so florid, that he often seemed completely unhinged, but he wasn’t nearly as reckless as he seemed. His fury was hammer and chisel, used to carve out a better future for himself and his own—and naturally, it looked like he was destroying a perfectly good block of stone, but there was an artistic vision at play, and that tempered his actions. Joshua had to be careful, or the sculpture would break. So though Joshua appeared the mad artist to the observer, he was actually exceptionally meticulous and goal-oriented.

Rae was Joshua in reverse. Rae’s anger was a simmering furnace, used to shatter windows and melt down the pieces and reshape that molten glass into a spiraling ramp, free for all who wished to use it. And the ramp greatly helped uplift those in need, so no one questioned the benevolent creator’s motives or sanity. If they had asked, they would have found that the ramp was not built to please its creator, as most artwork is, but as a means to a selfish end. The ramp was a cliff, in actuality, and Rae planned to tackle a very specific person off the edge, sending them both into the abyss.

But Dani couldn’t really explain that to Lian, because she and Karyme were the only ones who knew that side of Rae. He was so good at playing the part of the normal, well-adjusted lawyer that no one would believe Dani about this—and it wasn’t her secret to share, anyway.

“Dani?” Lian asked, brow furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”

Though Lian’s voice startled Dani, she didn’t so much as flinch, thanks to the poker face she’d developed for speaking with her mom. Instead, Dani carefully schooled her expression into something more contemplative.

“I was trying to figure out how to put my thoughts on Joshua into nicer words, is all,” Dani said with a shrug. “But I got nothing, so here it is. Joshua’s just as fucked in the head as me and Peter—but he’d probably fistfight god to achieve his long-term goals, so he doesn’t fit on either list.”

Lian laughed. “Yeah, okay, he would. He already is, in a way, if you count the Ennead as…” They trailed off with a frown. “A-anyway! What about Rae? You didn’t mention xem, either.”

“Eh, he moved from Boston down to Houston and then chose to stay in Houston,” Dani said dismissively. “Like, who chooses to stay in Texas voluntarily? Plus he skipped a couple years of school on purpose and he reads history books for fun. I don’t think there’s a lot of great arguments in there for normalcy. And if that’s not enough—there was the time you asked him about his favorite song.”

“And he didn’t have an answer,” Lian groaned. “I still don’t get it—how can someone not listen to music? And then listen to a song from High School Musical and only call it ‘okay, I guess?’”

Behind Dani, two sets of footsteps approached. The pair were exchanging small talk in low voices, and though Dani couldn’t tell what they were saying, he could tell based on timbre who they were. Dani grinned.

“See, there’s my point,” Dani said, raising her voice so that the newcomers could hear every word. “Guys who read the actual physical newspaper and don’t listen to music are not normal and should not be trusted.”

“Trusted with what, exactly?”

Dani turned to greet Rae with a grin. His arms were crossed, eyes narrowed, mouth twisted into an unamused frown. Beside him, Juli was also grinning like the gremlin they were.

“Oh, nothing,” Dani sang. “Just… brewing coffee. Avoiding parking tickets, too. Or, hm, I think ironing clothes also goes on the list. Should I keep going?”

“It’s not my fault that you like your coffee burnt,” Rae grumbled. “And the ironing thing was not my fault. How was I supposed to know that Silpa increased the heat threshold on the clothing iron in here?”

“And the parking tickets?” Juli pressed, leaning forward.

“You weren’t even there for those!” Rae protested. “The dreams don’t always show the full context.”

“Dude, that dream gave us all the context we needed—like the fact that you didn’t pre-pay for your parking in a notoriously cop-heavy part of town,” Juli teased.

“It was a five minute trip in and out of the drug store!” Rae argued. “I’m not paying ten dollars just to park for ten minutes!”

“Okay, Mr. Cheapskate,” Dani said with a laugh.

There was a thud from the foyer, followed by a string of curses, and the smell of food drifted towards the living room, alerting them to Ilia and Morgan’s return.

“Oh! Let’s go help them,” Lian said brightly, hopping off the couch.

“It kinda sounds like they need it,” Juli agreed.

Juli and Lian continued to chatter as the four of them moved towards the foyer, but Dani tuned them out, turning her attention instead to a private telepathic conversation with Rae.

Is Juli okay? Dani asked.

They’ll get there, Rae said softly. How’s Lian?

I… don’t know, Dani said hesitantly. I can’t tell if I made things better or worse.

Dani watched with mild amusement as Lian tried to lighten Morgan’s load. They weren’t necessarily stacking the trays of food excessively high, but one of the containers was sent tumbling towards the ground regardless.

Dani and Rae exchanged looks—and then Dani positioned herself so that when Rae switched places with the wayward tupperware, she could catch it with little effort. Unfortunately, Rae ended up on the floor, but he was an acceptable sacrifice.

“Whoa, nice catch!” Juli cheered, giving Rae a hand up.

“Thanks,” Rae grumbled, dusting himself off. “But while that was a fun test of reflexes, I would prefer not to repeat it.”

“Right,” Lian said sheepishly. “Sorry!”

Dani sighed and stepped forward to help out—and Lian actually handed her another container of salsa this time instead of trying to carry everything themself. Dani smiled. She would continue to keep an eye on Lian, but for now, this was a start.

~.~

Joshua never showed up for dinner. When Auster asked Joel about it, he received a vague response about Joshua being a little tired and emotionally worn down—and that worried Auster, because he still hadn’t told Joshua about his powers, and that was not the kind of conversation to have while Joshua was upset.

Auster could wait until the next morning, maybe, but that would just increase Joshua’s sense of hurt and betrayal, and that was the last thing Auster wanted. It put Auster in a tough spot, but after some back and forth, he decided to just bite the bullet.

With dread pooling in his stomach, he knocked on the door to Joshua’s bedroom.

“Josh,” Auster said slowly. “I, um, need to talk to you about something.”

There was a brief pause, and then the door swung open, revealing a fairly disheveled Joshua. His hair was thrown up in a messy bun, kind of, and he had changed into loungewear at some point. He looked at Auster with red-rimmed eyes and a concerned frown.

“Is something wrong?” Joshua asked. “Are you still hurt?”

“N-no!” Auster said quickly. “No, not really, it’s just—I need to tell you something, and we should probably sit down for this.”

“Okay, then.” Joshua’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he moved aside, allowing Auster to enter the room.

The lighting in here was dimmer than in the hallway, and Auster had to blink for a few seconds before his eyes readjusted. The room looked a lot like his own—bed, nightstand, dresser, closet—except there was also a desk in the corner. There was no real seating, though, so when Joshua took a seat on the bed and patted the spot next to him, Auster complied.

“So, what’s going on?” Joshua asked.

“I…” Auster licked his lips. “I want to come with you tomorrow.”

“What?” Joshua frowned. “You can’t—”

“Why? Because you won’t be able to protect me out there?” Auster’s gaze fell to his hands. “I wasn’t even safe in here. And… I’m not helping anyone by sitting here.”

“You don’t have to make yourself useful,” Joshua said vehemently. “You wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t fucked up, and—you almost died, Aust. Maybe it’s not the safest in here, but out there—you can’t even defend yourself.”

“Maybe not, but… I can still help.” Auster made eye contact with Joshua. “I have powers now.”

Joshua’s eyes widened in shock. For a second, he was just frozen there—and then his brow furrowed, his mouth dipping into a frown as his brain got to work, and as the pieces fell together, confusion morphed into unfettered rage.

“Ilia,” Joshua snarled. “She didn’t. I’m going to—”

“Stop,” Auster interrupted. “If you’re going to be mad at anyone, don’t be mad at Ilia. Be mad at me. I’m the one who asked her to give me powers, and—it was my decision.”

Joshua opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but something about Auster’s determined glare caused all of the anger to drain out him, leaving behind only a cold sense of horror.

“Why?” Joshua said weakly. “I just wanted you to stay safe.”

“I know, but—” Auster tried to ignore the guilt crawling up his spine. “Has Joel told you about what happened while you were in Dimension X?”

Joshua shook his head. Auster grimaced. This was not going to be an easy story for Joshua to hear, but Auster couldn’t figure out how to prove his point without it.

“The day before your birthday, Joel and I baked a cake,” Auster said quietly, gaze downcast. “We wanted to surprise you when you came home, but… you never did. And then another day passed, and another, and you were still missing.”

“I figured the Soul Stealers had gotten you, which meant they were coming for us next,” Auster continued, and he couldn’t mask the tremor in his voice. “As I sat there, hoping the Soul Stealers wouldn’t come knocking, I tried to support Joel, but that fear in his eyes—it was like we were kids again, and I was trying to give him a place to hide from—you know—except this time, I knew it wasn’t going to work. I wouldn’t be able to protect him.”

“You did your best,” Joshua said tightly. “You kept him calm, and he—he was really grateful for that.”

“But that was all I could do,” Auster said emphatically. “And I realized at that moment that if something were to happen to you, I wouldn’t be able to protect Joel in your stead. And I know, now, that the others would be able to keep him safe, but—I don’t ever want to feel that helpless again.”

“Aust…” Joshua’s expression was pained, and that pulled on something deep in Auster’s chest, but Auster didn’t back down.

“Let me support you, Josh,” Auster begged. “I know you’re doing your best to protect me, so let me return the favor. Please.”

Joshua didn’t want to say yes. It was obvious in his thinly suppressed scowl and the furrow in his brow and the set of his jaw—but for some reason, he didn’t argue. Instead, he relented with a sigh.

“What’s your power, anyway?” Joshua said miserably.

“I can strengthen other people’s powers,” Auster replied. “Or, um, that’s what Karyme said, anyway.”

“You told Karyme before you told me,” Joshua said thinly. “Am I the last one to know?”

“Nah.” Auster gave Joshua a weak smile. “I haven’t told Peter yet, either.”

“You’re putting me on the same level as Peter,” Joshua said flatly. Auster’s nervous smile melted under Joshua’s deadpan stare.

“I… haven’t told anyone except you,” Auster admitted, gaze downcast. “I didn’t tell Karyme—she found out on her own. I was going to tell Joel, next, since he—he’d want to hear it in private, I think. I’ll tell the others tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Joshua said heavily. “I-okay. I don’t like this, but—we can give it a shot.”

“...Thanks.” Auster gave Joshua the most genuine smile he could muster. “I won’t let you down.”

“That’s not what I was worried about,” Joshua muttered. He rose to his feet, and though Auster got the sense that this conversation wasn’t quite over, he took that as his cue to leave. As he followed Joshua to the door, something else occurred to him.

“Should I, um, tell Lian to start the movie without you?” Auster asked, stepping into the hallway.

Joshua gave Auster a blank stare in reply.

“High School Musical,” Auster elaborated. “Lian mentioned it during breakfast today. We’re, um, having a movie night to—to relax, I guess. You don’t have to come, but…”

Joshua’s wings were practically wilting, and his usual grumpiness had kind of just faded into tense exhaustion, so it was kind of a stupid offer—but Auster knew Joshua, knew that he had probably sent the past few hours overthinking things he couldn’t fix. Joshua needed a distraction.

“I’ll… be there,” Joshua said haltingly. “Just give me ten minutes.”

As soon as the door was closed, Auster let out a sigh of relief. That was one big conversation out of the way—now he just had to talk to Joel.

~.~

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Kai’s voice was gentle, but it was still enough to startle Haku. Their pencil fell to the ground with a clack, landing next to a pile of discarded sticky notes, and when Haku leaned over to pick up the wayward writing utensil, they couldn’t even muster the energy to lift their arm. With a sigh, Haku let their hand fall to their side and turned their gaze towards the door.

Kai had looked worse before, certainly, but his current look wasn’t winning any prizes. His left arm was gone, his left leg was broken, his left foot was missing—he was currently walking on a translucent green replacement—and though he’d changed into a clean shirt, Haku could tell from here that Kai had also been used as Max’s personal pincushion.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Haku groused.

“I’ve had a little more time to recover,” Kai said wearily. “I’ll be going back to sleep soon, anyway—I just wanted to check on you first.”

Kai crossed the room and took a seat on the floor next to Haku, and as he sat down, the green soul-fueled construct he’d been using in place of a foot flickered away. Haku failed to suppress a scowl. Logically, they shouldn’t resent Kai’s show of concern—it was natural for him to worry.

But logic held little power in Haku’s soul at the moment. Though the mortals had put great care into patching Haku up, their soul still felt haphazardly thrown together. It was like a cyclone had come through and wrecked all of the bookshelves in the library, and though all of the books were still intact, they were no longer neatly compartmentalized and sorted. Haku’s soul was a jumble of emotion, and though Haku knew, logically, that getting angry would achieve nothing, their heart seemed to disagree.

“I don’t need you to check on me,” Haku snapped. “I’m fine. I got some rest earlier.”

“Sure you did,” Kai said coolly, raising an eyebrow. “Except I have it on good intel that you never even made it to the infirmary. You asked Peter to set you down here so you could browse the timeline.”

“And then Peter went and told you,” Haku said flatly.

“Sure did,” Kai said with a serene smile. “And he and I both agree: you need rest.”

Haku made a mental note to never trust Peter with anything ever again—which, to be fair, was probably a note they should have already made long, long ago. Unpredictable bastard.

“I’m fine,” Haku repeated. “Unlike you, I’ve still got all of my limbs.”

“And about half the amount of functioning lung,” Kai noted, poking Haku in the chest. “You can’t fool me so easily.”

“I—” Haku let out an exasperated sigh. “Why are you doing this?”

Kai slowly raised one eyebrow, his mouth curving ever so slightly downward, and as his eyes narrowed, zeroing in on Haku, Haku’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. Kai kept eye contact with Haku as he angled his chin up just enough to highlight his high cheekbones and sharp jawline—just enough to accentuate his most intimidating features. He had the same air of serenity as before, but now with a layer of icy disapproval, and though there was no anger in Kai’s expression, the intensity in his eyes was enough to command an army.

Ven liked to call this Kai’s Princely Glare of Doom because no one ever managed to look away before it broke them.

“Haku,” Kai said coolly. “Do you think I am doing this to make you angry?”

“No,” Haku mumbled.

“Very good!” Kai’s tone was all fake cheer and mockery. “Now, then. Why do you think I’m here?”

“Because you care,” Haku muttered. “I guess.”

“You get partial credit for that one, because the last two words were both unnecessary and incorrect,” Kai said smoothly, patting Haku on the head. “But I’ll give you a chance to make up the points you missed. What am I trying to achieve with this conversation?”

“Not threatening me, certainly,” Haku scoffed. “You and I both know you’re not strong enough to carry me to the infirmary, just like I’m not strong enough to run away if you try. You’re not here to force me to rest.”

“No, I’m not,” Kai agreed. He turned his gaze away from Haku and towards the ceiling, and Haku felt like a crushing pressure on their chest had been lifted. They let out a shaky sigh of relief.

It had been a while since Haku had invoked Kai’s ire like that, because normally, Kai wasn’t so quick to get frustrated. On a normal day, Haku could test Kai’s limits, and Kai wouldn’t snap. But today wasn’t a normal day, and both of them were out of sorts. As if reading Haku’s mind, Kai gave them a wan smile.

“It’s just as bad as last time, isn’t it?” Kai said wryly. “The feeling of being shattered, I mean.”

Haku swallowed. It was true that they felt like shit right now, and it had certainly been mortifying to watch the mortals grapple with their soul splinter as they struggled to resurface—but none of that compared to Haku’s first time being shattered.

The first time had been horrifying in its novelty. Shattering unintentionally was far more painful, after all, and while The Necromancer had collected all of Haku’s soul fragments, he had not bothered to reassemble them.

And that had forced Haku to face their soul splinter alone.

It was excruciating to try to reclaim one’s sense of self while simultaneously wrangling with deep-seated doubts that had gone ignored for centuries—like trying to return home without knowing where you were or how to get back or where home even was.

Just thinking about it made Haku’s chest ache. Their breaths grew increasingly shallow, their heartbeat spiraling as uncontrollably as their emotions, and it took every ounce of effort they had to keep the tears back. Haku half expected Kai to placate them with meaningless platitudes, but Kai just placed a comforting hand on Haku’s knee and waited with infinite patience and measured concern in his gaze.

And that should have grounded Haku, but now they couldn’t stop thinking about fifty years in prison—fifty years spent shattering repeatedly as The Necromancer failed to take their soul again, and again, and again, and each time it just got harder and harder to come back and easier and easier to shatter, until—

“Haku,” Kai said softly. “It’s over. This was the last time. We’re free.”

“We are,” Haku choked out, blinking away tears. “But the others? They’re alone and in pieces, floating in a void we’ve all visited one too many times—and that’s enough to make anyone lose hope if it goes on long enough. I don’t—I can’t—”

Haku’s voice broke. Kai’s grip on Haku’s knee tightened.

“You don’t think the others are strong enough to come back,” Kai said tightly. “You don’t think they’ll last.”

“You felt it, didn’t you? How hard it was to wake up this time?” Haku said hoarsely. “The mortals were there, putting the pieces together, doing all the work, and it still felt like I was pushing against a moving train with my bare hands.”

“I needed the help to get there,” Kai admitted. “Luckily, Joshua can be very persuasive.”

“If Peter hadn’t played it exactly right, I wouldn’t have gotten there at all,” Haku said bitterly. “I was seconds from gone, and I-I’m still seconds from gone. I’m so tired.”

“Me too,” Kai said quietly. “We all are.”

“And that’s why I’m worried,” Haku said miserably. “Because we were the first ones back, and if we feel like this, what about them? How do they feel? That’s why I can’t—I can’t rest yet, because—”

Desperation clogged Haku’s throat, and some combination of panic and injured lung made it almost impossible to breathe, but now that the floodgates were open, Haku couldn’t close them, couldn’t deny the raw hurt in their chest and the tears running down their face.

“I’m—I’m not okay,” Haku said frantically. “I know that, and everything hurts, and I can barely breathe, and it’s taking every bit of focus I have left to even stay awake. I can barely think straight, but if I don’t put this timeline puzzle together, we might not ever see the others again, so I-I’m somehow managing to stay upright even though Max completely eviscerated my internal organs, because I can’t let them die like that—not after we promised Jinal we’d stay.”

Haku was completely out of breath now, and as they gasped for air between broken sobs, they realized that Kai had, at some point, pulled them into a half hug of sorts. His embrace wasn’t tight enough to suffocate inner demons, like Jinal’s, and it wasn’t soft and warm like Ven’s. It was gentle, loose enough for Haku to shake off if they wished—but firm enough to keep Haku grounded if they accepted the invitation.

Haku leaned against Kai just a little bit as they struggled to inhale around the pain in their chest. He wasn’t warm, like humans were supposed to be, but neither was Haku. Both of them were cold, miserable husks, still waiting for their souls to settle—but the cold was perhaps more comforting, because it was a reminder that Haku wasn’t alone.

Haku waited until their breathing was stable to pull away. As they cleaned their glasses and wiped away their tears, it occurred to them that it was maybe a little too convenient that Kai had chosen to sit on Haku’s left so that he could embrace Haku with his only remaining arm when the time was right.

“Honesty is a good look on you, you know,” Kai said with a soft smile.

“Is it, now?” Haku snarked. “Good to hear.”

Haku somehow found the energy to give Kai a shove that was far too weak to do anything—and then Kai actually got thrown off balance, because the whole left half of his body was kind of a mess, and Haku had to help him straighten up again.

“You sure you’re going to hold up, your highness?” Haku snorted.

“Maybe,” Kai said with a shrug. “And maybe not. We both just got shattered, and we both feel like shit, physically and emotionally. It’s not all that surprising that a weak nudge like that would knock me down—which brings me to my purpose for this conversation.”

Kai tilted Haku’s chin up with his hand, his grip firm but gentle as he forced Haku to make eye contact.

“The next week is going to be hard, especially if you don’t play your cards right,” Kai said calmly. “I don’t know how it is for you, but for me, at least, every emotion feels magnified right now. Even the smallest thing is enough to cause a tsunami, but you—you’re trying to suppress that tidal wave instead of riding it through, because you only ever let yourself feel when you think your emotions won’t get in everyone else’s way.”

“You’re going to tell me to let myself feel,” Haku said bitterly. “Because Jinal and Ven aren’t here to say it.”

“Yes,” Kai replied, a pained smile on his face. “And I would have done so even if they hadn’t both asked me to before we entered Dimension X.”

Haku swallowed. Just mentioning Jinal sent a sharp pang of guilt through their chest. If Haku had been stronger, Jinal would still be here, and Kai wouldn’t have to spend his birthday without his wife. And thinking about Ven’s cheerful smiling face—

“I’ll sleep in a bit,” Haku said tightly. “Just—just let me finish this. We can’t keep wasting time.”

“All right,” Kai agreed, removing his hand from Haku’s face. “But only if you let me stay and help.”

Haku huffed out a laugh. Normally, they didn’t let anyone help with timeline management because adding more seers into the mix was just inefficient resource management. Since none of them could visualize timelines birthed from their own actions, only a completely uninvolved observer—like Haku—could accurately see all of the possible outcomes. Others could chip in, maybe, but any person who helped significantly map the timeline for a single battle was effectively disqualified from participating in that fight, because their participation would mess up the whole map.

Thus, on a normal day, Kai’s help would actually be a handicap, because it would limit his involvement in the field—but this was not a normal day, and Haku had a sinking feeling that the mortals were not going to let either of them leave the pocket dimension tomorrow.

“You can stay,” Haku grumbled. “But only if you can keep up.”

“Oh, please,” Kai scoffed, a twinkle in his eye. “I was doing this long before you were. I think I’ll be fine.”

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