Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He felt every muscle inside him wither, as if all the bruises on his body were pressed together tightly at once, as if his joints were so stiff that if he moved them he would break all the bones.

“You’re still alive, as expected.” It was the first thing he heard coming out of Madagio’s ‘mouth’ after… he didn’t know exactly how much time had passed. Weeks? Definitely. Months? Maybe a few. Years? He hoped with all his might that it hadn’t come to that.

“I’m sorry for making you wait down there.” Anger began to bubble in his stomach like lava in an active volcano, his jaw clenched, he felt all his teeth pressing against his gums and causing more pain.

“I was completely immobile for two months-” He hoped he had timed it right. “-to conserve energy…” He growled against the echo of the cave, feeling the explosion of anger coming. “AND ALL YOU SAY IS SORRY?!?!?!”

“There was a change of plans.” He said without changing his voice, without caring about the veteran’s anger and suffering, increasing the lava inside him even more. “The players’ data were… ineffective for my goals.”

Fit dared to stand up, feeling all the pain hit him hard, feeling his nervous system screaming for him to stay still on the ground. His eye was swollen and purple, he could barely see anything. His prosthetic arm was damaged in the fall, a dead weight attached by some wires to his shoulder. His clothes, dirty with dust and dried blood, torn from failed attempts to climb for his freedom in the first days.

“What do you mean by that?” He grunted in confusion, his fury increasing with each sentence Madagio spoke.

“The data you collected was of no use to me.” He clarified his words. The man’s eyes widened, he technically betrayed the rebellion using their information, joined the federation, put friends in danger by handing over his data, and all of that was useless? He handed everything over on a golden platter just to have it spat on?

He felt his body stiffen, his flesh fist was so tight that his knuckles were white, his teeth were so pressed together that he could hear one cracking, his eyes burned as a dry tear threatened to come out.

“The data weren’t enough?! Is that what you mean?! Well, I’m sorry, but these were the resources I got with the time I had!” He shouted towards the exit of the cave, feeling his throat scratching from the lack of water. “The federation has a large firewall, the hacks I could use to speed up the process were completely blocked!”

“I understand your conditions, but it’s not the few data I’m talking about.”

His lips parted, even with his eye swollen, he blinked repeatedly as if that could clarify his thoughts. The words died on his tongue and left a bitter taste.

“The Federation doesn’t care about the residents, they don’t care about you or anyone else who steps on their land. The only reason they want the ‘happiness’ of their residents is so they don’t compromise their real goals.”

“My initial plan was to create distorted versions of the residents with the collected data, but unfortunately the energy I spent connecting you to their system and their islands required a change of course of action.” That revelation made his stomach drop, he didn’t know if he felt relieved to know that he had somehow stopped Madagio from committing that atrocity, or disgusted with himself for knowing that he had contributed to that plan.

His lungs lost strength as his mind began to create possible images of those distorted versions, images of a Tubbo who didn't care about Sunny or who wanted the worst for her, images of Bagi trying to convince a fake Tina not to do anything bad to her family, images of Pac having to deal with Cell once again, but a version that Fit had helped create, images of Cellbit himself having to fight against a distortion of his husband, images of Fit having to... fight against a version of Pac. All those visions were like a deep stab in the veteran's heart, deep and poisoned stabs rotting his blood and system.

"I need you to give me more information about the federation, especially its strengths and weaknesses. Anything you have about it will help."

"After everything you did to me, do you think I'm going to help you?" He bluffed, he was desperate. He wanted to go back to the island, he wanted to go back to his beautiful little boy made by God himself; He wanted to go back to Pac and say all the things that were stuck in his throat; he wanted to see Phil, Tubbo, Bagi, Mike, Sunny, Empanada, Richarlyson, everyone again!... He had softened.

“We have common goals.” He said with conviction. “We both want to see the destruction of the federation, even for different reasons. I know this is a contract, but we can help each other for this cause.”

For a while, Fit was speechless. There were people in the federation who were forced into such work, innocents, victims, experiments that were not to blame could be affected if he accepted the offer again. But Madagio spoke louder than his thoughts.

“Look around, the federation is going to turn Quesadilla into Vaccus, an inhospitable place with a black sky. It will do the same thing it did to my friends in its-”

“Okay!” He heard his own echo in the cave as he stared at one of the corpses he had lived with for days. “Just… just send me back home.”

“Home?” Madagio repeated in a confused tone. Fit knew he had said more than he should. “Quesadilla Island was never your home. It never was and it never will be. You belong to another land. Remember what I told you? Don’t get attached, it will make it harder for you to return. As you said at our first meeting, this is a vacation!” His confident tone turned into a cold aggression, a violent honesty without filter.

Once again his stomach sank, his breath hitched, memories of his first meeting with Madagio clawed at his brain. “That means…”

“You have four months to deliver this information to me, after that consider your contract obligations fulfilled.”

“Wait-!” Before he could say anything else, a white light hit his pupils with force - as if a flash grenade had been activated in front of him.

…

He felt like his bones were broken and healed within seconds of each other, his head was spinning and it felt like his brain was shaking inside his skull. It was as if he had woken up sedated, but slowly his senses were returning.

He was sitting in that white chair, that fucking white chair that was nothing more than a teleporter in disguise. He left the chair trying to balance himself, but before he could think, his legs gave way drastically. The sharp pain ran through his nervous system again, a hoarse cry of suffering echoed through the radio station.

When his vision cleared slightly he could see his backpacks thrown on the floor, the smell of expired and rotten food coming from inside them permeating the place. His trident thrown on the floor like any tree branch to be forgotten. The computer on the desk was turned off, looking more closely he could see the cables that connected the electronics to the antenna completely damaged and beyond repair - he speculated that the spy cat he used for his communication had escaped and eliminated the evidence of any contact.

Before he could make any move, he heard the barricades he had built for security being broken and soon a large number of heavy footsteps coming towards him. He was screwed.

Federation workers carrying weapons occupied his field of vision, two on the right and two on the left. There was nowhere to run, even if he could do such an act. His heart began to pump blood rapidly, the adrenaline of terror heating his veins. They had discovered him.

A sharp pain hit him in the back, his muscles were contracting without his permission, a hellish burning in specific points, dizziness began to reach him as quickly as he saw the pale figure of Cucurucho appear in his vision holding a taser. His ears rang and his vision gradually turned black until he could no longer see anything and lost consciousness.

Well, I had a good run.

…

The first thing he expected when he opened his eyes was the cold, damp wall of the cave and the corpses he began to live with. He hoped that this dream mixed with a nightmare was just another one of his hallucinations that his brain created to try to keep him sane.

He felt the wounds throbbing harder, as if he had fallen for the second time into that hellish precipice. But a different sensation made him alert, he was lighter, maybe the cables that his prosthesis was attached to had finally broken? That wouldn't be good. Ramon spent hours making improvements and small repairs to that arm. Even though it was broken and a dead weight at the time, it was something that brought him closer to his son and gave him hope of seeing him again and asking him to fix his metal limb.

When he opened his eyes to check the weightlessness, he was startled. For a few seconds, he thought his time on Earth was over, that he was in the place of his final judgment, but then he realized he was in hell.

That white concrete, that damned white concrete was everywhere, completely surrounding his field of vision.

That wasn't a bad dream, it was reality. The federation had captured him. He had escaped from one prison to be thrown into another.

His dirty and torn clothes were exchanged for clothes almost identical to his usual attire. The only glaring difference was the sickly white color that the federation had as a standard for its prisoners. The outfit reminded him of the time Cellbit was captured to rescue Felps and returned with no memory of what had happened while he was in the facility, it also reminded him of the white outfit Pac wore while he was deep in those pills looking for the cure without anyone knowing.

His eyes widened even more when he looked at where his metal arm should have been and saw only a white bandage. The federation had probably given him up for dead and removed the bionic limb fixed to his body with surgery, which would explain the dizziness and the feeling of having been sedated. He squeezed the barrel of his nose with the hand he had left, thinking that this might make the illusion of having been captured by the Federation go away, but that was the reality.

He began to analyze the surroundings of his new prison, it was a simple cubicle of nine blocks by three, all covered in that blinding white concrete and quartz. He was sitting on the floor next to the small sleeping bag that was one block above the floor.

As an old habit, Fit checked his ears to see if his hearing aids were plugged in, but realized that even that had been taken away from him. Leaning on his sleeping bag, he managed to get up and walk with difficulty to the other end of his new cell to find the door that separated him from the rest of the federation complex. It was a door that only opened with a specific card; the federation used these a lot because it knew that passwords didn't work with residents.

The veteran's vision was still blurred, the artificial lights burning his retinas almost blinding him. He looked around for more things to perhaps plan an escape, but apparently it was impossible. It was just him, the sleeping bag and the sickly white walls.

Well, it looks like I'm going to stay here for a while.

...

Again, time seemed like an idiotic context, he didn't know how many hours had passed since he woke up, those white walls were starting to mess with his head. He wondered if this was how Pac and Mike felt when they were captured by the federation separately. Obviously Fit was used to being alone, in 2b2t being solitary was one of the most effective tactics for survival.

Maybe... maybe he deserved this punishment. He'd gotten too attached, he'd gotten soft, he was getting rusty, he felt so stupid now that he'd connected all the dots. He had forgotten that his stay at the quesadilla was a “vacation”. He'd forgotten that he wasn't supposed to bond. He'd forgotten that the only reason he'd survived this long was because he was alone.

But he was so in need of it, he was starving for a human touch that wouldn't hurt him, desperate to be able to scream without consequences, urged to tighten those knots that connected him to people so that the threads would never separate, anxious to just be able to... live! And not just survive.

He had to bury all those desires deep in his chest and take them to his coffin. Madagio had given him four months to get more information about the federation, its weaknesses and strengths, so he would use his time in prison to perhaps get some of that information.

Speak of the devil. Just as he was thinking about how to extract this information from the federation, he heard his cell door being unlocked and footsteps coming into his cubicle.

“Good morning .” He didn't miss that monotonous, robotic voice at all. Even though his ears were ringing and it was a bit muffled because he didn't have his hearing aids, he could recognize that voice anywhere.

Cucurucho's white fur was camouflaged against the white concrete by his blurred vision, and it seemed that he was just a smiling face in the middle of the clear void, looking directly at the corrupted soul that Fit was.

His face was closed, his pupils dilated like a cat's, a red alarm beeped in his head, and his heart began to skip a beat. That figure that looked like a white bear always indicated trouble, the mask of wanting the residents to be happy had fallen off a long time ago, and after discovering what the federation had done to Vaccuns, how it had drained its energy, deceived its former residents and what it could do to their friends and loved ones, just the sight of Cucurucho made him want to pull out his trident and impale him alive.

But he wasn't with his trident, he wasn't in Vaccuns, he wasn't with his friends and loved ones. On the contrary, he was trapped, without his prosthesis, wounded and tired. It made him uncomfortable, knowing that he was the prey and could be killed at the pull of a trigger.

“ Could you answer a few questions? ” The lines of his voice echoed through the cubicle. Fit really wasn't in the mood to answer any of the federation's questions, he already knew very well what they were going to ask.

Silence settled over the white cell, Cucurucho waiting for an answer that would never be given by the war veteran.

“ Could you answer a few questions?” He repeated, and again was left without an answer. The white figure probably thought it was the lack of hearing aids that was to blame for Fit not answering, so it moved a few steps closer and repeated the question. Again there was no reply. Finally, the veteran broke the vow of silence.

"That's no way to treat employees, you know. I do everything you ask, I clean up all the shit you tell me to clean up, and I'm still underpaid." He stared at Cucurucho's fixed smile. “And as if you wanted to make it worse, I get tasered in the back and have my prosthetics ripped out without my consent.”

Ignoring all the veteran's talk, the bear figure takes a book from his inventory and writes for a few minutes before handing it over.

" We understand your discontent, but this is for greater security. Your prostheses were very deteriorated and damaged, we took the initiative to remove them and improve them to ensure your happiness. "

Having a part of his body designed and made by the federation would only bring anger and contempt on his part, he would rather rip off and burn the bionic limb than live with it. He was also sure that if he put on the federation's hearing aids, they would surely brainwash him.

Another book was passed to him.

“ Where were you? ”

“What do you mean?” He would test Cucurucho's patience as much as possible, he was sure that if he revealed that he had been on one of the islands abandoned by the federation and had been sent to find out information on how to infiltrate its facilities, that white cubicle could become his new home or his grave.

"I only found that abandoned radio tower and stayed there after some exploration. That's why I'm all screwed up-"

Before he could finish his ‘explanation’, the white figure pulled out his gun and shot the veteran twice in the leg.

His first reaction was to scream in pain, pressing down hard on the holes made by the projectiles with his one hand.

His second reaction was to look hatefully at Cucurucho and scream at him.

"What the fuck! Why did you do that?“

" Truth ."

“I'm telling the truth, you maniac!”

Another bang, another scream, another hole in his leg. His white pants were beginning to soak through with crimson liquid. He felt like he was on the verge of falling, one more shot and he'd be on the ground. His hand was shaking over his wounds, the air was escaping from his lungs so fast it made him dizzy, his heart felt like TNT exploding and returning at the speed of light.

“ Truth .” He repeated once more.

“That's the truth!”

Another bang and the white room went dark.

…

At least they feed me here.

That's what he used to think when heard the sound of the food tray being pushed through the hole in the heavy metal door. It was the only good thing he could consider about that prison.

Sleeping felt strange, the blinding artificial lights never went out. He counted down the days through the “question sessions”, which basically always followed the same script.

They would ask where Fit had been for the last few months.

He would answer that had been in the abandoned radio tower that he had found on one of his explorations.

They wouldn't accept that answer and would try to get the truth out of him through physical torture.

They would get bored or realise that they had gone too far and cure him with a potion, leaving him alone until the next session.

He was sure that he had gotten more scars in those “questioning sessions”, he could see the bullet marks on his legs and torso, the rips in his hand and arm made by a knife or sword. He knew they wouldn't kill him, at least not permanently. They had to get that information out of him first, but both the federation and Fit himself knew that he was tough and hard-headed; his place of origin had molded him to be that way.

Most of the time, he lay on the white floor watching the white lights burn his retinas and thinking about how the island was without him. Had they suspected his departure? Had the children woken up? If so, had he missed his son's birthday? His little boy made in heaven by God himself? Goddesses, he would blame himself for the rest of his life for missing such a special day for himself and his son. Maybe Pac had done something for Ramón?

His heart sank at the thought of the brunette, remembering the moments when he saw him alone, in the immensity of ChumeLabs, with blood, garbage and dust all around him as he squirmed in a fetal position, letting himself be carried away by a spiral of negative feelings. Had this happened to him on his departure? Pac was the only one apart from Ramón who knew about his work on the island and he had promised to keep it a secret. Had he made him suffer in silence again?

He knew Pac was strong, he had seen him lose several things and still keep going, but even the strongest rock wears against the sea. At least he had his brother, he had Tubbo, he had Bagi, he had lots of people who he could count... Did he really need an old dog by his side? Goddesses, maybe he was even better off without his companion.

Maybe Fit really did deserve all that suffering, knowing that he didn't have much time on the island and that it was being spent torturing him both physically by the federation and mentally by himself.

He was a terrible friend, an even worse father and boyfriend. Who would abandon their child and partner without warning or consolation? He had written a letter to Pac before all this, but nothing on that simple piece of paper gave away his true state.

A tear almost threatened to come out when he heard the metal door creak on the white concrete like a certain buzzing sound. Already knowing what was about to happen, lazily turned his head to the side and saw the white silhouette with the smile plastered across its face, along with two orange vests.

“ Shall we try again?”

He felt a piece of his humanity slip away as he heard that muffled phrase again and again and again. He felt the sparkle in his own eyes fade every time the blood stained his white clothes.

“Let's just get on with this”.

...

He had lost count of the number of sections. And that was a problem.

There were more than twenty, that was for sure.

Twenty-three maybe?

Twenty-five seemed more likely.

Maybe it was twenty-eight.

Had it passed thirty and not even realized it?

In any case, his hopes of getting out of that facility were dashed. He was even more tired, he felt as if the bullets and cuts were still in his body, and he didn't even know where he was or how to get out of that federation facility. Not that he was worried about his survival skills, he'd already walked for days on cobblestone soil where his only food was rotten zombie flesh and spider eyes, surely that was still lodged in his system... And anyway he'd have to get used to it again to survive four - three months from now? He could even smell the rotten, toxic smoke of.... home? Clearly it was his place as a person, or so he could consider that after everything he'd done in 2b2t.

Perhaps he should accept that he would never again see his little boy made in heaven by God himself, or his handsome Brazilian boyfriend, or his loyal old crow friend, or any of the islanders he had befriended.

It was then that the white room turned red for seconds, then back to white, then red, then white, red, white, red, white. Even though he was almost deaf, he was startled to hear the annoying, deafening noise of an alarm blaring from the other side of the metal door. Trying to cover his ears with his one hand and shoulder, he got up with great difficulty and walked slowly to the exit of his cubicle to see what was going on. By some miracle, they had forgotten to cover the window that was normally used to observe Fit in his cell, so he had a poor view of the room before his cubicle.

As usual, white concrete filled the entire area, but with the red lights flashing every second, the room turned a bright shade of red. A table and chair were located in the opposite corner of the metal door that separated him from the rest of the room.The wall ahead had large glass windows, showing the corridor of the federation facility, and another security door, but this one seemed to be the model that used passwords instead of cards, like the one in his cell.

He stopped paying attention to his surroundings when he noticed the movement of shadows in the corridor, each one distorted by the red lights that came and went according to the deafening siren. They were mobs. Big ones, small ones, from the weakest to the strongest, from the most common to some he had never seen before.

Had there been an infestation? Had some of the mob experiments escaped? Was it an attack on the federation or a defense front?

Before he could come up with an answer, iron plates descended on the windows that allowed him to see the movement outside his cubicle. His world was now just his cell and the room ahead.

The sound of his own breath was heard over the sirens, as he felt the oxygen being absorbed by his lungs and exhaled the carbon dioxide. The feeling of something wrapping around his stomach was beginning to bother him, as if the great rock that he was was beginning to crumble under the endless tides, as if he could hear glass cracking with every second that passed under the immense pressure, with the tiny shards scratching his insides, begging to be expelled.

Oh Goddesses , he couldn't take it anymore. Even with his philosophy of “Surviving is a victory”, he couldn't live like this, imprisoned, lynched and wounded every day. He put his hand over his face, finally having a moment of darkness amidst the white and red lights, the sound of the siren fading into the background as thoughts screamed through his mind.

Was it really worth keeping the secret of his mission knowing that he would be sent back to 2b2t anyway?

Was it really worth keeping Madagio a secret when he felt so much hatred and anger just remembering his bi-colored eyes? Wouldn't it be better to send a taste of his own poison and shout the truth only for his boss to have to deal with the federation on his ass?

No... even if it were a pleasure to do so, the federation would kill him permanently on discovering that he'd been lying all along, which they've been hinting at for a while now. Besides, his death wouldn't be enough, they'd probably go after Ramón thinking he'd have more information.

Another deep sigh.

As well as Ramón, the federation would also go after Pac, and he had already suffered enough at their grimy hands. And they wouldn't stop there, they would go after Philza, Tubbo, anyone they thought had more information about Fit and make them confess the impossible using the same methods they used against the bald man.

Almost as if his mind was playing tricks on him, Phil's voice seemed to echo down the corridor, it was so weak, but full of panic and anger. Then the sound of mobs being attacked and defending themselves against whatever was trying to get rid of them.

But then more voices, the voice of his Brazilian boyfriend's brother, the voice of Tubbo, the voice of Bad... Actually, now that he was paying attention, they weren't just voices, but screams muffled by the siren and the noise of the monsters' counter-attacks...

Goddesses, his head was starting to trick him, he should take a nap.

...

He was starving, even using the same technique he had used in Vaccuns to conserve energy, it seemed they had found a new means of torture. They hadn't fed him since the mob attack, which he thought was about five or six days ago.

Perhaps they got tired of the beating and decided on another way to get the truth out of his windpipe? It was likely considering what Pac had told him about what the federation had done to him the first time it had captured him.

It wasn't as if he hadn't faced hunger before, it was common in 2B2T, so common that talking about it was like cursing a hated family member. Malnutrition wasn't that far away, hunger and it went hand in hand. Protein and meat that wasn't rotten was a rare delicacy, he didn't know how he kept his muscles for so long without being able to take advantage of a freshly slaughtered animal.

After a while in Quesadilla, he noticed his weight gain, but it was muscle weight rather than fat. Unfortunately, he'd gotten used to it, and the autoeater in his backpack helped him a lot, as did the other tools in his bag. Being hungry like that was like revisiting an old enemy he would never miss. At least, not yet.

The sound of the tray being dragged across the floor echoed through the cell, and he didn't know whether to feel relief or uncertainty. He had the feeling that something bad was about to happen, something so bad that he had a headache and felt sick. But his stomach spoke louder than his premonition.

Dragging himself painfully along, he managed to reach the tray of food. He was surprised to see that it wasn't the "dog food" he was normally given, it was more familiar than that. On one side there were two simple pieces of toast, a little dry to the eye but certainly better than dog food, on the other there was some kind of pasta with a sauce he couldn't identify.

Hehe... was looking at his last meal and they didn't even warn him? How disrespectful .

Before he knew it, the tray had been cleared. His stomach had taken over his consciousness and made him devour the food in less than five minutes, and from what he was feeling... it wasn't a good idea.

His cell seemed to expand and shrink, a heat rose in his throat and his fingers tingled. He tried to move away from the tray and the door, but his body seemed to have turned to lead. His head ached, it felt like his brain was rattling around in his skull and every time it hit it produced a popping sound, his reasoning began to become meaningless, indecipherable words in a heap of piles and piles of burnt books. He blinked slowly, seeing the artificial lights blur every time he opened his eyes. The ceiling seemed to slowly move towards him, his body gave way and it felt like he was trapped in his own flesh.

His blurred vision identified two federation workers, one wearing a blue lab coat and a black tie, a scientist perhaps? His mind was starting to drift. The other was an ordinary employee in an orange coat.

" Due to recent misadventures, you are being transferred to another unit of the federation. We hope you understand our sedation methods."

Sons of a...

...

The rocking of the stretcher made him move from side to side, the creaking of the metal beneath him was muffled but irritating, the faint sound of chains clanking and dragging against the stretcher was also present. He tried to move some part of his body, anything! But everything beyond his eyelids seemed petrified.

 The staff were silent, well, they didn't talk, they communicated through books and recorded audios. As an attempt to control his own body, he blinked - white concrete and more blinding artificial lights flashing by so fast they looked like a straight line of fluorescents. He blinked again and the darkness consumed him.

…

All he could see were flashes of fluorescent lights on the white ceiling, flashes of the handcuffs on his wrist and feet rattling and clinking against the gurney, flashes of the glass windows of other rooms in the federation, flashes of the staff who were taking him in looking at each other every time his eyes opened. The cold flooding his veins every time they injected stronger drugs as the previous one began to lose its effectiveness, he felt his eyes roll back from the excess of dopamine and the numbness in his muscles and fingers as his head began to think that this was fun.

Was this how Pac felt with the pills? No, the drug treatment caused memory changes... or maybe the drug hadn't affected him that strongly yet.

...

Alarms. Alarms. Alarms! Everything was so loud! Red lights flashing! Danger! Danger! DANGER!

The sirens awakened the survival instinct already installed in Fit's head, triggering the muscle memory of fight or die. His mind screamed at him to move, but his body felt like the heaviest metal known to man. 

It felt like he'd gone back in time, back to his homeland, back to when he won the battle against Rusher and lost his left arm in an end crystal explosion. He felt so sick, so tired, so, so sore. But he had to fight, he had to defend himself, he had to survive... unfortunately, even his tongue seemed trapped. It was as if his body was his cell now.

The flashes were more recurrent now, he could see and muffledly hear the alarm going off incessantly, the orange worker in front of him now had a gun in his hand, the same gun they used to torture the veteran and try to get his secrets out of him. The worker in the white coat was crouching next to his armed colleague. Helpless, it seemed that they trusted the security of the laboratories so much that they didn't even hand out "safety equipment" to the scientists. The scientist next to him obviously had a sedative syringe as a defense, but it certainly wasn't as effective as a pistol.

He blinked for a moment and seemed to have lost minutes when he opened his eyes again. 

There were now two more armed orange clerks around his gurney and the scientist; the alarms hadn't stopped yet, but it looked like they had released their first line of defense.

From afar, like a grotesque and loud echo, he heard the sound of mobs being massacred. Fit didn't know how many, but given the federation's history, there were more than he could count. He could hear their howls of pain, the sounds they made when something cut through their skin and bones like butter, smell the dust they turned into as they died. But there were no human screams, not even a whisper in some familiar language complaining about the number of enemies or the quality of their equipment, just the deafening sound of mobs dying by a silent hand.

He blinked again. Silence. The first line of defense was gone.

The employees were anxious, looking at each other in panic - if they could speak, they would be praying for their lives and asking for forgiveness for the sins they had committed.

The sound of the light bulbs breaking startled them, it was like the ticking of a clock, a clock that determined the time of their lives.

Tick, tack, tick, tack. The corridor was starting to get dark. Tick, tock, tick, tock. The shadows were getting closer. Tick... Tack... Tick... Tack... 

The veteran's damaged eardrums finally picked up footsteps, slow and steady, light and confident, like those of a calm warrior ready to attack. The slight clink of metal in those footsteps made him wonder, a clink so... familiar. He didn't know if it was the drugs or his mind starting to give way, but his muscles relaxed as the footsteps grew louder and the corridor grew darker. 

Tick... Tack... Tick.. Tack...

The sound of the wind being cut was getting louder.

Tick... Tack... Tick...

Fit opened his eyes briefly. Arrows, arrows that caused dread by breaking the sound barrier and destroying the lamps. But these were no ordinary arrows, they were made of the darkest wood he had ever seen, so dark it looked like obsidian; their tips were made of a vibrant red material, like a redstone refined and petrified to be sharper than a sword blade.

The only thing creating light in the corridor now were the red lights, flickering on and off every time the siren went off. Even with the sedatives, he could see a shadow amidst the darkness and the vibrant red, a shadow not very tall in stature with small blurs as red as the redstone of the arrows he was throwing.

He heard the staff open fire on the shadow, and then the darkness consumed him again.

...

The smell of copper was unbearable, it felt like he had returned to the scenes of battle in his homeland, for a moment he thought he had returned to the moment he lost his arm where the only thing he could see was the smears of blood, the muscles and flesh of his left limb burnt and flayed with huge shards of glass from an end crystal embedded in what remained of a human arm and hand, Rusher's lifeless body more than three meters away - dumped like the scum the veterans considered him to be with the leader's diamond sword embedded in his chest.

But that was just a memory.

Fit opened his eyes again, he wasn't chained to the stretcher, he wasn't surrounded by federation officials, he wasn't even feeling the sedative as efficiently as before. He was being carried, carried bridal-style by the shadow with vibrant red details.

Something about it was extremely... familiar and comforting, like hot black coffee at sunset on a cold afternoon. He couldn't understand how he felt so safe around someone who had probably killed more than four federation officials and was taking him away.

The red lights still came on all the time, the alarm already seemed to be lowered, allowing him to briefly have a blurred vision of who, or what, was taking him out of that white concrete prison.

His face glowed among the red lights, his eyes, six completely red eyeballs with slightly yellowed irises, shone like a neon sign in the middle of the darkness, sometimes Fit could feel his gaze on his face - as much as he wanted to return the look, the drugs in his system still prevented him from being in total control of his body; he could see a small glimmer of concern in his eyes, but it was as small as the yellowed details of his irises. His head, shoulders and torso were covered by a black cloak so frayed at the edges that it looked as if it had been torn; the garment was being held together by some kind of vibrant red jewel, as vibrant as his eyes. The top of his hood had a seam that seemed to imitate horns 

He walked in slow steps, almost with a limp, and a clink of metal accompanied his light footsteps. Was he injured? He heard the officers open fire before he fainted, and there were three of them against the familiar shadow, the theory that a projectile had hit him wasn't so strange and impossible. If he thought about it more deeply than his mind could at the moment, he would begin to question the shadow's strength and endurance. He knew he had lost weight with all the time he had spent imprisoned by Madagio or the federation, but still, to carry Fit like a bride so easily and be injured while doing so? The officials didn't stand a chance against him.

He felt his muscles relax more and more as the shadow's body heat warmed him in the cold corridor. Even though he was without his hearing aids, he could hear his savior's heartbeat as his head rested against the other man's chest, strong and a little fast, but just the right rhythm to make his eyelids heavy.

He didn't want to black out again, this was the first time in a long time that he felt safe again, that he could be in someone else's arms and not worry about his own fate, that he felt close... to him. But the battle was already set from the moment the drugs entered his bloodstream. Soon his eyelids began to take longer to open, he felt that his body was twice as limp and that he was going to take a long nap. 

He didn't know if it was the drugs or his mind playing tricks on him, but the... face of that shadow... was so... beautiful…

Chapter Text

It felt like someone had thrown an iron anvil at his head, the sharp pain hitting his entire skull like a helmet of agony. He blinked slowly, trying to gather his thoughts, but even his eyes took a while to focus. The first thing he saw when his vision adjusted was the ceiling, the gray ceiling of... a gray ceiling?!

Where...?

He was at the federation a short time ago, transferred to another unit as they said. Did the federation not use white concrete in this facility? Very unlikely, it was their trademark.

He tried to move to get a better look at his surroundings, but his entire body felt petrified, except that one part was heavier than the rest. His aching head seemed to make his thoughts swim in thick fog, the only thing he could make out were blurred letters.

When he finally managed to move a little, a bitter taste rose to his mouth, as if his gastric juices were trying to expel something. Everything was spinning, and he closed his eyes again, thinking it might lessen the dizziness, but even the darkness seemed distorted.

He tried to move the fingers of his remaining hand, but something was pressing down on his only arm... or rather, someone. Even with the rest of his body free from the grip, his body still felt like a prison over which he had no control.

He opened his eyes again when the dizziness subsided, the gray ceiling lights seemed to tear his vision as he stared at them. He blinked slowly until he adjusted to the brightness of the place. Distant voices sounded distorted and muffled, as if someone were trying to communicate underwater, but they were getting clearer as they got closer.

He tilted his head to the side, trying to see what was pressing against his flesh arm. He felt a lump form in his throat when he saw the little hybrid boy with a mustache clinging to his arm with an iron grip as he rested gently. His eyes burned as tears threatened to spill, but before that happened, the voices became as clear as day.

"I tried to convince him to go home last night, but he didn't want to leave Fit. He said he's afraid they'll take him away again." The slightly deep tone and British accent gave away the owner of the voice.

"Come on, man, his father was in possession of the federation for what, three months? Give him a break." The faltering voice and accent, also British, responded to the other, indicating those responsible for the conversation. But the veteran leaned his torso slightly forward to make sure he wasn't hearing voices again.

The result of this simple movement was to see both Philza and Tubbo with wide eyes and dropped jaws in front of the open door of the hospital room. Below the height of the British men, three not-so-small children had the same reaction as their elders.

"FIT!!!" The youngest Briton shouted, running toward the veteran who was lying down and giving him a very uncomfortable hug, along with a small brown spot with yellow and orange details that was also clinging to him. This sudden movement woke Ramon with a start, causing him to get up immediately, remove the potato cannon from his inventory and aim it at the younger European and his little sister, but when he noticed his conscious father grimacing at the young adult's grip, he lowered the weapon the same minute and froze.

"Tubbo... let me go." The veteran's deep, hoarse, dry voice sounded faintly in the room, but it was loud enough for those closest to him to hear.

"No! You'll have to live with me stuck to you now!" He retorted, tightening his embrace even more.

"I need... to breathe, idiot."

"Deal with it! I'm going to be stuck to you 24 hours a day, seven days a week, every day of the month. You'll have to find a new way to breathe!" He almost tripped over his own words with the speed at which he spoke. The British man's grip was accompanied by a lighter but firm one coming from the small brown spot with yellow and orange details; when his vision finally adjusted to the place and the dizziness stabilized, he was able to identify what—or rather, who—was responsible for the second touch. 

The little hybrid had her eyes tightly closed, and even though they were almost covered by sunglasses, he could see small tears forming beneath her eyelids. Her blonde hair with brown roots was tied up in two star-shaped buns, and the veteran thought it was highly unlikely that Tubbo had done her hair.

"Phil... can you help me out here?" The bald man called out to the older Brit, who was watching the scene from the doorway with his two children and a mischievous smile on his face.

"Naaahh, hold on a little longer."

Fit couldn't understand Philza's response because he didn't have his hearing aids and the blond was too far away, but from what he could gather from lip reading, he wasn't going to get any help anytime soon.

"Please, baby girl." Tubbo let out a big "ewww" when he heard the veteran's plea, which made Phil and Fit burst out laughing as they watched the younger man break away from the bald man and signal fake vomiting.

"Goddesses! I forgot how gay you were, I'm going to let you go before I get infected!" He looked at the American out of the corner of his eye with his hands clasped around his neck. 

Before Fit could breathe calmly, he was grabbed again, now on the right side of his body, but this time the embrace was smaller, lighter, more desperate, more... familiar. He turned toward the source of the grip and dry tears escaped from his eyes. Ramón was on tiptoe, stretching to hug his father sitting on the hospital bed, his face buried in the side of his chest, wetting the fabric of the white shirt he still wore with his small tears. He could feel the little boy's chest trembling with the sighs and sobs he let out.

"Ramón! My baby boy! My beautiful baby boy made in heaven by God himself!" He exclaimed, grabbing his son with his arm and placing him on the bed to hug him back. 

His heart was filled with joy when he realized that everything was real, his son in his lap was real, his friends and hybrids around him were real, his freedom from the white concrete prison was real—even though he couldn't remember how he had acquired it.

"Oh mi huevito, I'm so happy to see you. I'm sorry I was away for so long and—" A realization hit him as hard as a punch in the stomach. He loosened his embrace a little, but only enough to look his son in the eyes. Those little swollen eyes that haunted his dreams during all the months he was away, that reflected everything that was most important to him. The slightly yellowish, Pac-Man-shaped irises, which he had acquired after spending a lot of time with the Brazilian, were confused and worried, afraid that he had done something wrong.

"Did I miss your birthday?!" A slight panic arose in the American's tone when his sense of time returned to his head. He didn't need an answer, Ramón's downcast gaze and sad aura gave everything away. The feeling of failure and disappointment began to sprout like weeds. Goddesses, how could he be such a bad father?

"Ah... I'm so sorry Ramon, I-" He paused for a moment, thinking of a way to tell him what had happened without giving himself away to the British in the same room. "I got rusty, made a stupid mistake, and ended up in the hands of those bastards from the federation." He said in a weak tone, the hoarseness of his voice from thirst not helping at all, the feeling of failure as a responsible person crept through the cracks and permeated the veteran's heart.

 "We can—" The space between Fit and Ramon became null once again, the little hybrid clinging even tighter to the bald man's torso, now grabbing him with his legs and his short tail curling around him. Fit could feel the fabric of his white shirt getting wet again, but now in the center of his chest. He knew that Ramon had the ugly habit of not wanting to be seen crying, a trait he had inherited from his ex-husband and some traits that the little one had acquired from him. The veteran returned the hug with the same level of strength as his son, making small circular movements on his back and then gently making a cafuné on his curly hair.

Cafuné, such a cute word he had learned from Pac...

Fit saw out of the corner of his eye that Philza was trying to tell him something directly and didn't notice the bald man's hearing aids were missing. He whispered the older Brit's name until he realized he had caught his attention, then loosened his grip on Ramón's hair a little and poked behind his own ear. The historian let out a nasal laugh when he saw the crow's wide eyes and the slap on the forehead he gave himself. The blond approached Lullah, who was very different from what he remembered, crouching down a little to be almost the same height, and then the little girl handed a case from her backpack to the adult with the hat.

Phil approached Fit with slow steps, opening the case and taking whatever was inside it. When he got close enough to the hospital bed, he signaled for him to hold out his hand, which the American did without question. He felt the light weight of the objects being placed in his only hand and then identified them: they were the spare hearing aids that Lullah used when the others were damaged or low on battery. He looked at the little girl with some surprise, but the one with black hair now just smiled at her uncle.

The devices didn't "fit like a glove"; the flower lover's hearing aids were slightly smaller and more sensitive than Fit's. But for now, that was enough.

"Can you hear me now?" Phil asked. The loud sounds made the American uncomfortable at first—especially since he hadn't had his devices for over a month—but he was relieved to finally hear normally after so long. 

"Clear as day, my friend," he murmured, returning to caressing his son's scalp.

"Great! Now, as I was saying..." He resumed speaking, scratching the back of his neck. "We haven't been able to celebrate any of the original dragons' birthdays," he said with a certain regret in his voice, looking directly at his own children with a disappointed look, a look of disappointment in himself. Fit was confused by this information, his eyes narrowed and his mouth half open, a wordless question that was soon answered.

"Remember, before you disappeared, how the dragons were in a deep sleep?" The veteran nodded. "Well, that sleep turned into a kind of coma, they slept for so long that they were taken away by the federation, saying they were going to 'treat' them."

"It sucked to be without my Poppet," Tubbo said, hugging Sunny tightly while the little dragon tried to push her clingy father away.

"The island seemed deserted, many of us started sleeping more with their absence. The only ones who remained more present were me, Tubbo, Bad, and the Tazercrafts. We were... well, disoriented without them, almost in isolation."

"I immersed myself in the construction of the Town of Fobo. I hardly saw anyone except Phil and Bad... sometimes."

"The most active of us all was Bad, it was because of him that we got the old island back."

"He found the old island?!" Fit was surprised to hear this, in his mind all the buildings had been destroyed after restarting the island by pressing the red button.

"Where do you think you are now?" The crow almost laughed at the situation if it weren't for understanding his veteran friend's condition.

"We are..." The bald man focused on the room and identified the location with wide eyes. "At the Ordo Theoritas hospital..."

"Yeah, we thought this would be a better place for you to recover than staying near the federation. They really screwed you over these past three months!"

"Don't even remind me, Tubbo." His hoarse, tired tone released some of the feelings he had held back while he was incarcerated.

"Anyway, back to the explanation of the anniversaries." Phil continued. "Almost six weeks ago, I went to the spawn and saw a poster from the bakery with a hidden message saying they had information about the missing eggs, and the rabbit who works at the cash register started talking to me—"

"She can talk?!" Fit made a confused fuss.

"No, no!" The blond denied as he waved his hands. "She talks like the workers, through books. The rabbit gave me one with the coordinates of Chayanne and Lullah and told me to bring some friends to help rescue them. She didn't do it willingly, without the eggs, she has no job, and without a job she gets no money." The crow crossed his arms and stared at a fixed point.

"Since everyone was kind of separated and asleep, I asked Aypierre to help me rescue the two of them." He turned his eyes to the hybrid with recently black hair and the blond wearing a skull mask. "They were in two separate laboratories, and mobs we had never seen before were waiting for us. When we entered, we had to create a kind of potion with a plant they were developing there, the ghost berry, and the item they liked the most."

"My dad gave me three doses of the potion and I got high." Fit laughed as he translated the child's signs.

"Lullah! You didn't have to mention that." Phil spoke, his voice breaking with embarrassment. "Anyway, one after another, we managed to rescue the hybrids. The last rescue was a week ago, when we got Ramón's location." The American's eyes widened a little, he lowered his head and looked at the little one in his lap who rested his head on his chest, as if the beating of his heart confirmed his presence.

"We needed at least one of his guardians to be present for the rescue to make the potion. But you were uhh... out of contact and Pac is out of the question to get close to them” 

Fit's face melted into a cold confusion, a chill ran down his spine to his stomach, the last sentence made no sense at all. Pac had always been one of the most trusted residents on the entire island, there wasn't a child who didn't adore him for his affection, always showing concern in wanting to help, in playing with the little ones in the way they felt most comfortable, in wanting to protect them. Of course, he had his low points at one time, but he never intentionally hurt the hybrids.

“W-what- huh-?! Why?! What do you mean by that?!” His heart skipped a beat, he couldn't imagine a single reason for this sudden estrangement. The Brazilian was one of the purest souls he had ever had the chance to meet. What had he done that was so tragic to be considered a threat to the hybrids?

Both Brits widened their eyes, as if they had entered a momentary state of panic and been hit by a bucket of cold water. Tubbo walked toward the blond man, and the two exchanged glances, a silent discussion measured by the irises of the oldest and youngest adult. After a few nods and averted glances, Phil let out all the air he had been holding and crossed his arms as he closed his eyes and bowed his head to the floor.

"All right, I'll take it from here. It's better if you leave." Phil sighed as he stamped his foot on the floor.

"That's right—hey, what did you mean by that?" He said in an almost theatrical tone, glaring at the older man.

"Nothing, nothing. Just..." He focused his gaze on the anarchist at rest, a look that was not quite icy, but painful and concerned. "You can go back to Tubhaus to fix the avocado toast factory, king." 

"...Okay... I'm leaving then. See you later, Fit. Come on, Poppet, we have a lot to do." He said goodbye with a sour face but a slightly sweet tone of voice, taking Sunny's hand as the little girl waved goodbye. 

Phil didn't say a word until he heard the sound of the waystone, confirming that Tubbo and his daughter had left. "Alright, uhmm..." He paced back and forth incessantly, searching for the right words to break the bad news. "Shit, okay, okay. So... uhhmm." He turned his head to the bald man in bed who was still making small random lines on Ramón's back, the expression of concern and cold confusion still on his face.

"Pac..." He began, clasping his hands together and avoiding eye contact. "He didn't... handle your disappearance very well, let's say." Fit's heart sank, he abruptly stopped caressing his son and felt a sense of guilt wash over him. "From the first days after you disappeared, he started acting strangely. He would go out alone on adventures... 100k - 150k blocks away, sometimes the communicator chat would be beeping with death messages every 10 minutes. I swear to everything that he tried to kill a Warden alone once on one of those outings-" He said, remembering the warnings that Pac had fallen again and again to that mob. "Since we were in a kind of isolation, no one noticed or cared much about his adventures, everyone was a little messed up at the time and we thought it was his way of dealing with the situation." He confessed that information, looking as if he had taken at least one of the weights off his shoulders.  

"I think after a week, I went to visit him to understand the reason for the long trips and the countless death warnings. When I saw him... he didn't look the same." He said as his memory rewound the scene of Pac opening the door in detail in his head. "He was exhausted, as if he hadn't slept in all that time. Deep dark circles under his eyes, an apathetic expression, his arms covered in bruises, cuts, and poorly applied bandages. He looked dehydrated and like he hadn't eaten anything in days." The dry, hoarse voice the dark-haired man had when he invited him in played like an audio clip in Phil's head.

"I asked how things were going and why he was traveling. Pac told me that... he wanted to become stronger, to protect the boys when they woke up and to... find you." He said, turning to face the adult who was in a state of shock, his eyes wide and his muscles tense. "He said he was looking for the Forlorn Hollows, a type of cave where we can find items to make very strong and powerful equipment, but that he had been unsuccessful in any of his trips looking for the cave tablets to find the caves." The memory of the dark-haired man throwing himself awkwardly into his blue armchair and explaining everything to the blond came back to his mind.

"I was worried and... I gave him the location of one of the Forlorn Hollows I had found. I swear it was the only time I saw a sparkle in his eyes during the whole conversation. A few days later, he showed up wearing one of those." He said, taking something out of his backpack and throwing it on the hospital bed. Fit had to lean forward and be careful not to crush the hybrid, who was still clinging to him, to get a better look at the item. It was something he had seen a few times during his time on the "new island," a black cloak made of a material he couldn't quite identify, a silk with a texture that made his fingers tingle and a simple red gem that served as a button to hold the fabric to the body. He clearly remembered seeing Etolies and Pomme wearing one of these. But something in his brain hurt, a feeling of tightness and certainty that he had seen this cloak in more circumstances. On another person, in another place, in another situation. 

"At first glance, he seemed better than before. More active, happy, sociable... until things started to get weird. Little by little, he forgot things; it started with small things, like dates and insignificant stuff, but after a few days he couldn't even remember where he was and recent moments; like that strange amnesia Bad had." The scene of Pac introducing himself to Bagi and Empanada as if he didn't know who they were broke his heart. "That wasn't the only strange thing, he started acting more aggressively when we asked him about the cloak and why he was wearing that thing all the time. His eyes started to turn red and his dark circles got even deeper... until one day it was the last straw."

"What happened? What did he do?!" Fit almost shouted as she pressed Ramón against her chest. It was as if a part of his soul was cracking, rotting, breaking, and fear and guilt were taking over.

"I... I'm not really sure what happened, I heard about it from Bagi. I was still recovering from... the situation with the Ender King—"

"Oh Goddesses, I knew there was something wrong with you! I'm really sorry I wasn't here to help you."

"It's okay, man. You were captured by the federation, it's not like you chose it. Besides, I had the help of a little Warrior and an old friend." He said, looking at Chayenne with a mixture of pride and relief, but soon wet his lips, searching for words. Pac had started building a kind of macabre tower, as Bagi described it, black and gray bricks with vines that didn't even seem to come from the upper world, slowly covering it. Richarlyson thought his father was working on a new project and... went there to help him... If Bagi hadn't been around, Richas would surely have lost another life again. She told me that... Pac didn't recognize him, nor did he know who Mike was when they mentioned him, and then he attacked them with arrows." He took a deep breath to catch his breath and thought about his next words.

"They told me that Pac doesn't seem like himself anymore. That his body has changed for the worse, that the cloak has changed him. His veins were marked on his skin by a black thing that stained his hands completely, four more eyes opened on his face and they are a completely vibrant red, without even a pupil, just a neon red, and he never took off that cloak again." Phil described exactly what the Brazilian woman had told him after the attack, he couldn't even imagine Pac looking like that.

And then a loud moan of pain. Fit had his only hand on his left temple as he grimaced in pain. Ramón looked at his father with a worried, confused, and fearful expression, not knowing what to do to help him.

"Woah! Mate, what happened?! Are you okay?!" He almost shouted as he ran to his old friend's side.

"I-I'm fine! I'm fine! It's just that... AAAGH!"

Flashes of white corridors, sirens, flashing warning lights, arrows, blood, shadows, neon red eyes... eyes so worried, sad, broken.

His breathing and pain increased as the memories hit him like a speeding truck.

The moon shining through the treetops, an icy wind hitting your face, the feeling of flying, the sound of the sea, sand, a dry wine-colored wooden pier, the savior shadow looking down at him from above while he was on the ground, his red eyes with yellow Pac-Man-shaped irises, the moonlight revealing his face and reflecting his tears.

"I'm sorry for being late... Fitche."

Then his eyes turned completely red and the tears stopped.

"Pac..." The whisper escaped his lips, so low that the raven had to ask what his friend had said.

"Phil, how did you find me?!" He asked, almost jumping off the stretcher to reach the blond.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, take it easy. Breathe." The blond tried to get him to lie down again, but it was impossible with the bald man in such a state of alertness. "What do you mean, 'how did we find you'?"

"How did I end up here, Philza! The last thing I remember is the Federation sedating me to take me to another prison. How did you find me there?!"

The crow frowned, confused by something that didn't fit into this story.

"You were lying on my pier, literally thrown there, it looked like you had fallen off a mountain before you got there. We thought you had come back on your own." That's when all the dots connected for Fit.

"Oh Goddesses." He whispered, rubbing his face with his only hand before placing it over his mouth, covering it. "I thought it was a nightmare caused by the drugs."

Philza's worried face turned to a confused and serious expression. "Could you explain?" He asked, moving closer to the stretcher.

"I..." A heavy sigh escaped his mouth. "I don't even know how to tell you this, Phil. There was so much going on at once, I don't even know myself." His eyes searched desperately for a fixed point until they found the blond's blue ones. "But I'm sure of one thing, it was Pac." His stomach sank as he said this, but he didn't know if it was out of fear or hope, hope that he still had a chance to save his beloved.

"What do you mean?" the Englishman asked, his eyes wide and puzzled. Ramón shared his expression as he moved back a little to hear his father's explanation better.

"I can only remember flashes." Fit said, putting his only hand on his head again. "The white ceiling with the artificial lights, flashing red lights, the workers by my bedside, and him... exactly as you described, with only one difference—" He lifted his face to the British man again. "The eyes. They were six eyes redder than those of a hostile wolf, but they had yellow pac-mac irises as vibrant as lava... He saved me, Phil. He got me out of there and left me at your pier."

The blond was stunned, he tried to utter a word, a phrase, anything to express his confusion and surprise, but his tongue was a dead weight. Processing that information took so long that before he could even digest it, Fit was positioning himself to get out of bed.

“Woah woah woah, what do you think you're doing?!” He shouted to the bald man, who almost fell on the floor if it hadn't been for his friend's support.

"I- Argh!... I have to find him! Apologize for- HMPH!... For my disappearance! Explain everything to him!" Sweat dripped down his forehead as the crow forced him to sit down with his son again.

"Oh no no no, you stay here! Resting!" He countered when the other leaned back on the bed with a pained groan. “Mate, you've just woken up from a coma, you're all fucked up, you need to get your strength back, because this way you won't even make it to the elevator.”

“Watch me then.” He replied, breathing heavily and looking Philza in the eye.

"I know what you're capable of, Fit. But I'm asking you as a friend and uncle of a very worried boy-“ His voice became serious and soft as he looked at Ramón. ”You need to rest, regain your strength. It won't do you any good to find Pac in that state if you're even worse ." The blond man's words made the anarchist run out of arguments, his mouth shut and his gaze downcast with irritation; he hated it when Philza was right.

“... Do you at least know what's making him act like this?” He asked reluctantly as he got into bed again.

"He's being possessed and has lost most of his memory along the way, that's the only thing we know for sure. Bagi, Tubbo and I have tried to come up with some theories as to what might be controlling him but the only conclusion we've come to is that it's not that black concrete thing, fortunately and unfortunately." He crossed his arms as he thought. "If it was, at least we'd have some idea of what to do, but Pac wouldn't be able to be saved. The thing that's making him behave like this is... unknown."

“Do you think there's still time to save him?” His voice broke at the thought of losing his boyfriend because of his own carelessness.

“Pac is strong, I'm in no place to say that he's been through worse, but I'm sure that with you here it will be much easier to get that thing out of him.” Philza spoke with a confidence that almost made Fit feel safe... almost.

"I'm going to give you and Ramón some time alone. I'm sure you two have a lot to catch up on. Come on, Chayenne, Lullah." He said, leading his children out of the room as the little ones waved goodbye to the mustache hybrid and the wounded anarchist.

None of them said a word until the waystone sounded and confirmed their departure, then Ramón landed a light but painful punch on his father's shoulder, causing the older man to complain with a shout.

“Hey! What was that for?!” He said at the same time as he saw the hybrid start to signal with trembling hands.

"You said we'd see each other on Monday!!! That everything would be fine!!! That you wouldn't leave!!!"

"I know, my boy! And I'm sorry for that!" His voice began to break little by little, while the boy still attacked him without the intention of hurting him. "I didn't want any of this to happen. My boss didn't like that... I got attached here. I was taken to another island, he threw me off a cliff and left me trapped in a cave for two months. When I came back, the federation was waiting for me at the radio tower and I ended up being captured by them." He looked at his son, who had stopped attacking him in the middle of his explanation, his eyes filled with tears. Then the little boy started signaling again.

"Attachments? So this is all my fault?" And then the adult replied almost immediately.

"WHAT?! NO NO NO!" But it was too late, new tears began to wet the hybrid's face. "Ramón... none of this is your fault, only mine." He assured him, hugging the little one with his only arm. "All of this was because of decisions I made, you have nothing to do with it and never will." He said, planting a kiss on the top of the little one's head as he trembled in his lap. "You were the best thing that ever happened to me, mi huevito, you destroyed the great obsidian walls I had built around myself. If I had to go through all this again just to ensure your safety and happiness, I would do it without hesitation." He whispered as he rubbed his son's back in circular motions, thinking that this might calm him down.

Fit didn't know how long he had been hugging Ramón, but he didn't want to let him go at all. For a moment, he thought the half-dragon had fallen asleep on top of him, but he was surprised when the little one began to show new hand signals.

"I thought you were gone... just like Spreen." The veteran's heart broke when he heard that. "I... I was so scared when I woke up in the lab and they told me you had been gone for months."

"Ramón..." He softened his voice as much as he could as he lifted the little one's head to look into his wet eyes. "I will never abandon you, my boy, never. They will have to tear me away from you and take me far, far away to even separate us physically. But I will never abandon you of my own free will."

"Promise?" He signaled, searching for an answer in the adult's slightly wide eyes, who after a few seconds made the L sign with his hand, placed the tip of his index finger on his lips and the tip of his thumb on his throat, and then dragged his fingers from right to left. It was a sign that few on the island had seen before, one that was not in any sign language spoken there except one that only three, almost four, people knew. It was a 2b2t sign, a sign that said, "I promise, if the promise is broken, I will pay with my life."

A sigh of relief and melancholy escaped from the mustache boy before he hugged his father tightly again, but this time he grabbed him close to one of the injuries that was still sensitive, which resulted in Fit letting out a hiss of pain. Ramón immediately let go when he heard that sound he hated and looked worriedly at his father.

"It's okay, your old man here is strong, he's been through worse than a squeeze on a big bruise." He smiled as he bit the inside of his cheek, watching his son open his backpack on the bed, looking for something inside it.

After a few moments, the hybrid took out a glass bottle containing a red liquid and handed it to his father. Looking more closely at the color and consistency of the substance, his heart warmed.

"A healing potion? For me?" He asked, watching his little boy put his backpack away again and nodding positively. "Are you sure? We don't have many resources left and—" His speech was interrupted when Ramón pushed the potion closer to Fit.

"We have the old island back, I have an unlimited supply of bottles from the witches' farm." He signaled calmly.

"Oh, that's right, I'm sorry, Ramón. I'm still processing all this." Fit said as he sipped the potion, feeling his pain subside and his energy restore a little. But it was true, his mind was very busy at that moment.

Madagio giving him one last mission, his deadline ending in three months, the federation torturing him to find out how he had escaped their island system, the children falling into a sudden coma, the whole situation involving... Pac. It was all his fault, if he hadn't been so stupid, if he had better explained his situation in that letter, if he hadn't fallen asleep in that damn chair in the radio tower, if he hadn't been so dumb as to climb that cliff only to be pushed down, if he had found a way to escape that cave earlier, if he had escaped the federation earlier; maybe, just maybe, he would have been quick enough to save his beloved from that fate, quick enough to comfort and save his son himself.

Then his thoughts were brought back to reality when Ramón lay down beside him and snuggled up in the human warmth.

"You're too good for me. My baby boy."