Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Forest walls and starry ceilings

Barren curtains that you're weaving

Like the stories that you keep inside your head

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me, so I say (mother, tell me, so I say)

Harpy Hare, where have you buried all your children?

Tell me, so I say

Harpy Hare, where have you buried all your children?

Tell me, so I say

- Harpy Hare by Yaelokre

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Scott ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Scott winces at the sharp sting in his ear. Hot and sticky blood trickles down his neck as the soft shine of metal is tossed to the floor, his earring rolling into the smoke and debris.

Weight crushes against his chest, a malicious smirk visible above him. He can’t see the eyes of his trapper, which makes the soft glint of teeth even more eerily terrifying. Portal’s wings are flared, the velvety black and purple completely shadowing Scott with intricate patterns. Her antennae are pressed back, and her teeth are bared, revealing the exceptionally sharp canines that look to be stained with blood. Scott hopes it’s just a trick of the light.

A sharp scythe is in one of her hands, glinting slightly with moonlight. Scott tenses as Portal lifts her hand, sharp claws dragging across Scott’s cheeks, pinching the skin slightly.

He tries to reach for the broad sword strapped to his hip, but Portal pushes in closer, pinning his arms against his side.

“You forget who you’re fighting with,” Portal drawls, her voice dangerously low and crackling, distorted and fuzzy and impossible to place. “You forget with a blink of an eye, I can be next to you, without a single thought. You can’t run from me, Myriad.”

Scott forces himself to breathe, leaning back as far as possible to take in Portal’s appearance. She hasn’t got out of the fight unscathed herself, her red cloak ripped and a few shades darker than its normal crimson, crusty with blood and dirt. There’s a slash across her lower lip, fairly short and not too deep, but a hit nonetheless. Scott feels a twist of satisfaction in his gut at that.

He can see she’s favouring her left side, leaning only slightly. It’s a weakness he’ll target as soon as he sees the right opportunity. He needs to keep Portal talking, needs to wait for the perfect distraction, for her to drop her guard only slightly.

Scott forces a smile onto his lips, despite knowing it’ll hardly be visible beneath the shine of light that comes from the crystals circulating around his head like a halo, the stones dipping lower to ward off the shadows that threaten to reveal his features. “Why, Portal, I think you’ve forgotten who you’re fighting. You’ve forgotten the true strength of The Speakers.”

Portal tilts her head, smirk pulling into something more akin to a sneer. “The Speakers are not more powerful than us, Myriad. You are cowards who are far too afraid to inflict real damage.”

As if to prove her point, Portal reaches beneath her cloak, pulling free her haladie. Scott swallows deeply, blanching at the short, curved blades that extrude from either side of the leather handle, tinted a soft purple. Portal presses in, her nose merely centimeters from Scott’s own, and yet he still can’t decipher her eyes or her features properly. 

He feels the end of one blade stab into his leg, piercing through his upper thigh. It feels like it misses all his vital arteries, which is the smallest relief. Portal’s causing pain just because she can. Scott bites his own tongue, swallowing back the scream that bubbles into his throat. He can’t stop the tears that spring to his eyes, but that won’t be visible. He focuses solely on the tang of iron blood that pools on his tongue as his teeth dig into the skin.

He can’t see past Portal’s moth-like wings, but he can hear past them. There’s a scream, one that Scott’s not familiar with but he thinks is Vision’s, the voice slightly higher-pitched than anyone else on the battlefield right now. Portal’s head snaps up, and she snatches the haladie free from Scott’s thigh. It burns as it comes free with a sickening squelch but Scott pushes the pain back. He knows this will be his only opportunity, while Portal’s distracted by one she cares about.

It’s never been publicly announced, but Scott can tell Portal and Vision are closer than anyone else allied with the Watchers. He doesn’t think twice, wriggling his hand free to twist his wrist.

His whole thigh burns as he spins out of Portal’s grasp but Scott pushes through the pain. His vision swims slightly as he focuses on his goal. Portal hisses rounding on Scott who’s now free of her hold. Scott ignores the pulse in his leg, electricity shooting up his spine with every pressure on it.

“Fuck,” Portal yells, staring at Scott as he rolls out of her grip. He can’t see himself, but he knows that Portal would’ve come face to face with a small ferret, white fur hosting a subtle blue tinge. Scott can see the trail of blood that follows him as he turns again.

Portal is swinging at him as soon as he looks like a human, her scythe slicing through the air with scarily good accuracy. Scott raises his arm, a flickering blue forcefield materialising just in time to stop her blow. It flashes red at the hit, but it gives Scott enough time to duck out of the way once more. As soon as he lowers his arm the checkered blue shield collapses into the small brace on his arm.

He can see the battlefield now, a vision of destruction and blood. Smoke rises around the fringes, casting a blurred haze across the action. Scott can see Anvil and Grave Digger working together easily, holding their own against Flux and Echo. Grave Digger keeps yelling commands to Anvil, probably warning him of the Watcher’s next moves. The ability to read minds proves useful in situations like this, especially paired with Anvil’s ability to warp the sword of his opponents.

Flux and Echo are struggling to land any hits, even when Flux keeps shimmering between looks. Scott knows his tactics – he takes on the appearance of the Speakers, tries to throw them off. It doesn’t work when Grave Digger can hear his thoughts, and can tell exactly which one he is. Echo’s powers are of no use in the fight Scott’s catching a glimpse of, his super hearing only useful from a distance, when on stealth missions. He’s forced to rely solely on his fighting skills.

Scott shakes his head, turning back to the fight in front of him. He let his thoughts wander for only a second, and it gave Portal the opportunity to get behind him, disappearing and reappearing in the blink of an eye. He feels a boot to his back, pushing the air straight from his lungs. Scott stumbles forward, catching himself before he lands fully on his face. He’s turning, pulling his sword from its sheath in the same movement and meeting Portal’s scythe blow for blow.

His leg is screaming at him as he ignores the gaping, jagged wound that’s still dripping blood down his leg. 

“You are annoyingly slippery,” Portal grits out, ducking the offensive blow Scott offers.

“Part of my charm,” Scott says, the smile on his face forced and pained. It doesn’t matter, because he knows Portal can’t see the pain plaguing his features, just from the way his posture is tense, shoulders hunched slightly.

His hair ruffles, clothes whipping around him. He knows he’s been backed into a corner by a second attacker. He’s fallen straight into the Watcher’s cruel trap. There’s only a second to duck as Storm’s foot flies out, almost catching Scott in the neck. Scott swears, taking a second to hit the small button on his earpiece.

He hears the ping, a pattern that’s encoded directly to him. An emergency call if you will. Scott just has to hold off his two attackers for only a moment longer, ducking the deadly point of Portal’s scythe and flinging his own sword backwards to try and catch Storm’s ankle. He misses, but it’s enough to send the man stumbling back.

Portal’s on him, about to bring her scythe down in a deadly blow when she’s pushed to the side by a seemingly invisible force.

The impact forces Blink to flicker back into view, a few scratches and gashes across his body, but nothing unfixable.

Scott nods his thanks, turning his back on Portal to face Storm. He hears a grunt that indicates Blink is keeping Portal completely occupied. Storm is furious, brown eyes alight with anger. The bug-like wings behind him flicker. Scott thinks the purple color would be mesmerising if he had time to pay attention to them. He doesn’t though, forced back by his cicada-wing sword.

It’s hard to dodge a weapon that has so many sharp points on it, the blades on either end deadly enough without the added curved blades that sit over Storm’s knuckles.

Scott feels like he’s about to collapse, the pain in his leg starting to become unbearable. Storm keeps battering him with gusts of wind, the tendrils of air grabbing at his clothes. It makes his movements slow and sluggish, but he doesn’t have a choice to keep on fighting.

Storm lunges forward, one arm above the other to bring the unique weapon down vertically, ready to slice Scott clean in two. Scott raises his arm, balling his hand into a fist to activate the blue shield. It doesn’t hold for very long, almost all the power used up, but the slight tip of the weapon that makes it through hardly grazes Scott’s skin, just a small nick across his shoulder. Blue holographic light shatters around Scott’s face, dissipating within a second. There’s a whir as the band on his arm powers down, an automated voice saying something indecipherable in the midst of a battle.

Storm grunts, his blade coming down again. Scott raises his sword, locking the blow and leaning in. He’s incredibly close to Storm’s face and he’s tempted to rip the stiff fabric of his mask off and reveal what lies under the brown eyes.

Wings flicker behind Storm’s back and his earpiece crackles, hardly loud enough for Scott to hear. He catches a few words – ‘ too strong…outnumbered…retreat.’

“Your team’s calling,” Scott whispers, voice hoarse. Storm glares at him but backs off, tucking his sword between his shoulder blades. Scott knows he could leap forward and attack him, but he lets the man go. Speakers are nothing if not merciful.

With a flicker of purple, Storm flits into the air, only wobbling slightly from his injuries before he rights himself. The moon catches the thin webbing of his wings, casting a stained glass pattern onto the pavement.

Scott sighs in relief as the Watchers begin to flee. Portal’s first, carrying an almost unconscious Vision close to her chest. Scott can see Tilly running along under them, weaving into an alleyway, white pelt hiding the large rippling muscles under the wolf’s coat as she tracks Portal through the sky. Scott had hardly seen the beast the entire fight.

Storm’s already gone, and Scott can see the blur of Spark’s movements as he follows close behind, using his momentum to propel himself onto the rooftops of the buildings.

Flux and Echo are still locked in battle against Grave Digger and Anvil. Scott goes to help, but he’s slow, his leg weighing him down. Hawk is at his side in an instant, arm looping under his waist to catch him before he falls.

“Fuck, Myriad,” He mutters, waiting until Scott is steady before he lets go. He swings the compound bow off his back, the gears churning as he pulls an arrow back in the drawstring. The tip is flared slightly, designed to cause more damage coming out. Hawk’s aim is impeccable, hitting Flux right in the arm, perfectly missing all the vital arteries and organs.

Flux cries out, ripping the arrow free and causing another scream of pain. Echo yells something and jumps in front of Flux, blocking Blink’s attack as the other man leaps in to join the fight. Despite his opponent's invisible state, Echo’s able to keep up. It’s rather amazing, Scott thinks, to watch Echo swinging to catch Blink’s sword before it comes down. The man flickers into view for only a second before he disappears again.

Scott’s hope flares as Blink pushes Echo back into a corner with the help of Grave Digger, the other man’s scaled wings flaring behind him. Flux is still occupied with Anvil, steadily being pushed away from Echo. 

“Lapse, Firefly,” Hawk commands, hand pressed against his earpiece. “Give Anvil some assistance.” There’s an echo as Scott hears the same words rattle around his skull, distorted from his comms.

Scott can see the new members of his team running forward, weapons raised. They don’t get a chance to join the fight.

There’s a shadow that passes over the concrete, a flurry of feathers the only warning.

Bird appears out of nowhere, face blurred purple, wings flaring as he lands. He fires a bolt from his crossbow and it lodges in Anvil’s shoulder. Something passes between Bird and Flux, because the shifter is scampering away quickly, his appearance taking on Bird’s own. He’s clearly not used to flying, the wings unsteady as he spreads them.

Scott can’t help the laugh that escapes from his throat as Flux clips the edge of a building, almost tumbling straight out of the sky as he continues his clumsy get away. Firefly and Lapse change their trajectory, aiming for Bird.

Hawk’s quick to intervene, loading another arrow in. He tilts his head, activating his comms with his shoulder. “Don’t interact with Bird. We’re injured and he’s been gone the whole fight – you’ll be gone in seconds.”

Firefly stops dead in his tracks, reaching out and grabbing the furry green fabric on Lapse’s wrist. The two almost tumble to the floor but right themselves quickly, ducking behind a trash bin to avoid the arrow sent their way.

Bird doesn’t pay them another thought, already prowling towards where Blink and Grave Digger are still locked in combat with Echo. They haven’t noticed Bird approaching behind them.

“Fuck,” Hawk mutters, leaving Scott leaning against a pole to rush forward. His aim would’ve been perfect, but Bird seems to hear it, avoiding the projectile perfectly, the arrow clattering against the side of the building uselessly.

Scott raises a shaky hand, holding the speech button on his earpiece. “Blink, Grave Digger, behind you,” he hisses.

Grave Digger turns, their hair whipping into their face in long black tendrils. Bird’s about to strike with his sword. It’s got a simple blade, a reinforced onyx colour that gleams purple, long and thin and able to pierce through bone if the rumours are to be believed. The handle is more elaborate, wrapping around his hand in a protective manner, curling in swirls around Bird’s fingers.

The sword slices through the air. Grave Digger dodges just in time, only a lock of hair broken away. Scott winces as the black shimmers away, leaving a flaming auburn curl to drift to the ground. In theory he knew that Grave Digger’s appearance was altered, the dark hair a few shades too different every day to be natural, but he never expected the Speaker to be a red head. It surprises him in a way, but he doesn’t have time to fully process the realisation.

Grave Digger is moving through the battlefield, completely distracted by Bird, who’s pursuing only them. Scott’s heart is in his throat. Grave Digger’s nimble, fast on their feet and able to avoid most of Bird’s attacks, which are deadly and aim for places that would kill Grave Digger if she wasn’t able to dodge.

Bird’s distracted though, his full attention on only Grave Digger. Hawk is occupied with Echo, who’s holding his own against Blink too well, able to predict each of his movements through the slight noise that comes with each shift of fingers against the leather of a sword handle.

Lapse and Firefly are gone, probably fled back to Head Quarters to alert the medics. Anvil is clutching his shoulder, mace discarded on the floor as he tries to carefully remove the dripping arrow from his flesh. Scott knows this is probably his only chance.

He ignores the feeling of fire in his leg. It feels like every one of his nerve endings is being ripped at with a fist of barbed wire. He pushes the pain to the back of his mind for what feels like the hundredth time in only a few minutes, pulling his sword free. He only has to rush forward for a couple of feet until he’s behind Bird. He plunges his sword down, grimacing as it lands a hit in the Watcher’s upper arm.

Bird hisses, turning to face Scott, sword already coming down on him with his own blow.

Scott’s vision swims as he lets himself fall. He’s in the air before he hits the ground, his figure sized down into a small falcon. Bird hisses, staring at the bird which is now flying in circles just out of his reach. Scott knows he won’t be able to keep the form for long, the pain even worse now that he’s over-exerting his limbs.

“We’re giving you the opportunity to retreat,” Grave Digger says, their voice low and gravelly, distorted thanks to the small modulator positioned right at the bottom of her mask, which covers the top half of their face.

Bird looks between the phantom hybrid, whose wings are flared, and Scott who’s still in the air.

He screeches, a terrifyingly animalistic sound bursting free of his lips as he backs away. There’s another well-aimed crossbow hit that catches Blink in the leg for the second he’s in view. It gives Echo an escape, the dragon hybrid scrambling into an alleyway where Bird follows. Seconds later, Bird’s in the air again, Echo clinging to his back between his wings, his own scaled limbs tucked small and useless against his back.

Scott collapses as soon as the immediate danger is gone. He feels his limbs reshaping as he tumbles towards the ground but he doesn’t have the energy to try and stop his fall in any way. 

Arms wrap around his waist before he hits the ground. Scott blinks a few times to see Grave Digger holding him up, straining under his weight as she lowers him to the ground.

“Myriad, you fucking idiot,” they scold, bending over him. There’s not any bad injuries, apart from the giant dagger wound on his leg. “I had it handled.”

“Saw a way to get Bird gone,” Scott says, voice wobbling slightly. Even those simple words seem to drain his energy. 

Grave Digger rolls their eyes, reaching up to check their mask as if on instinct. Scott knows it’s one of her nervous habits, fiddling with the very thing hiding their identity. “Fucking hell, you can’t do stupid shit like that.”

Scott shrugs, smiling weakly. Grave Digger reaches up, tapping the edge of her earpiece. “Hawk, little help over here would be great. Myriad’s in a bad shape.”

Scott winces at the echo as the message comes through his own comms a second after. Hawk’s voice crackles across the line.

“On my way. Firefly and Lapse should be coming back to help. ”

Hawk’s at Grave Digger’s side in a second, sending them off to help Anvil back to the Head Quarters.

“I’m going to have to carry you,” Hawk announces, pushing a small button on the tip of his bow. The line tightens, securing it across his chest so it won’t get in the way. With a second button there’s a cap sliding in place over his sheath of arrows to prevent any falling onto the pavement to be collected by Watchers.

Scott looks at him stubbornly. “You’re not carrying me. I’m perfectly capable of walking by myself.”

“That’s not happening and we both know it,” Hawk says, levelling Scott with a harsh glare. “So stop being stubborn and accept it.”

Scott rolls his eyes but humours Hawk as he’s pulled into a better position. The world spins slightly as he’s hoisted off the ground. Maybe the blood loss was starting to get to him. He hardly remembers the trip back to Head Quarters. One moment they’re in the destroyed plaza, debris littering the streets and smoke rising into the air and the next the doors are hissing open, revealing sterile white halls.

The light reflects into Scott’s eyes, forcing him to squint. He’s no stranger to overly bright lights, given it’s his primary means of disguise, but there’s always been something off about the lights at Head Quarters. They’re unnatural in the indoor setting.

“I look so fucking stupid right now,” he mutters, staring up at Hawk who just snorts, tightening his grip on Scott.

The med bay is down a few levels, the elevator ride spent in uncomfortable silence. Scott’s given a bed, right across from Anvil who’s sitting up, a doctor tending to the arrow wound in his shoulder.

“Any major injuries?” the doctor asks, her hair pulled back in a tight bun.

Scar gestures to Scott. “Rather large one to the thigh – Portal’s doing I’m pretty sure. Other than that just the normal scratches.”

The doctor nods, her lips turning downwards at the sight of Scott’s leg. He hasn’t actually looked at the wound yet, but he can tell from the pain that it’s bad.

He blanches at the sight of the injury, promptly leaning over the edge of the bed to heave the contents of his stomach onto the floor. The doctor sighs but doesn’t reprimand him for it, probably very used to this.

Scar rubs small circles on Scott’s back as he works up the courage to look back. The wound is jagged, skin hanging off it in large chunks. Blood’s already starting to clot in discoloured chunks around the edge but there’s still blood dribbling in thin rivers, staining Scott’s pants. He can’t tell if he can actually see the bone through the gore or if it’s his mind playing tricks on him. 

Either way, he can tell that it’s not going to be a fun recovery process even with the advanced medicinal technology the Speakers have access to.

He can feel his vision starting to go fuzzy at the edges, darkness seeping in. He feels a needle prick him in the arm, right on his inner elbow. He hisses, but the pain is nowhere near as bad as the constant fire in his leg.

He doesn’t know what was in the needle, but he knows he’s losing consciousness. There’s a cloth placed over his face, covering his eyes. Scar whispers something about hiding his identity even when Scott’s disguise is bound to fade once he loses his lucidity.

He doesn’t protest or try to fight the darkness that overtakes his vision.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Pearl ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Pearl has finally managed to calm herself. Her breathing has returned to somewhat normal and her heart has stopped pounding now that she’s gotten the news Gem’s okay.

“Can you stop with your incessant pacing,” Martyn groans, lying across the couch. His wings look rather uncomfortably squished under his weight but he doesn’t seem to mind particularly, his tail flicking lazily as it hangs off the plush furnishing.

Pearl glares at him. “You’d be acting the same if it was Ren,” she retorts. Martyn splutters, sitting upright so quickly he almost falls off the couch.

“That is not true,” he hisses. Joel snorts from across the room, raising his eyebrows. The stiff fabric mask has been pulled down around his neck and the translucent bug wings are back to a more normal pale green than the eerie purple.

“Can you stop denying it?” Joel asks, leaning back in an armchair rather lazily. “And just do something about it.”

Martyn crosses his arms stubbornly, settling back into the couch. Tango appears from down the hallway, his head still alight with low flames despite his lack of disguise. He’s changed out of the soft leather he normally wears that allows him to move quickly and into a simple jeans and shirt. “Are we bullying Martyn again?” He asks, smirking.

“Absolutely,” Pearl agrees, finally pausing in her pacing. “Trying to convince him to finally confess to Ren.”

“Oh, that’s my favourite game!” Tango exclaims. He’s at the side of the couch in the blink of an eye, startling Pearl. She always forgets he can move with speed even out of his disguise. 

Martyn is quick to act, reaching out and grabbing Tango’s shirt and pulling him close. Pearl leans against a wall, just watching the scene play out. Martyn sits up, beating his wings to give him the momentum needed to push Tango under him. They roll off the lounge, almost hitting the coffee table.

Tango squeaks but doesn’t seem bothered by Martyn’s sudden movement. He instead lets his body go limp under Martyn’s weight. Pearl sees his fingers reach into his pocket.

Seconds later, the roles have switched. Martyn’s flipped over, a dagger pressed to his throat. Tango’s hair burns a bit brighter, the flames rising higher into the air, paling to be more blue than orange. Martyn grins, his tail flicking into Tango’s wrist to throw the dagger away.

He jumps to his feet, pulling Tango with him and slamming the taller man into the wall. He presses his arm against Tango’s collarbone, reaching for his own dagger. He’s bringing it down and actually looks like he’s about to hit Tango in the shoulder.

A burst of wind wraps around his wrist, pulling it out of the way. The dagger lands on the concrete wall with a shower of sparks. Joel huffs, lowering his hand. Pearl can see the winds still winding around his fingers, ready for another gust if needed.

“G will kill us if we actually hurt each other,” Joel warns, shoulders relaxing only slightly. “He’s got enough on his plate helping with Gem right now.”

Martyn glares at Tango again but steps back. Tango doesn’t look phased at all. If anything, the grin across his features is even wider than before. “If any of you mention Ren again I will go through with it. A little gust of wind isn’t going to stop me.”

Pearl grins, pushing off the wall to continue her pacing. “But it’s so fun to rile you up!”

Martyn glares at her. It looks like he wants to leap off the couch again but he stays put. Pearl isn’t bothered by his silence. Her gaze is pulled to the corridor that leads to their bedrooms. She wants to barge into Gem’s room, demanding to know how she’s doing, but she knows that Ren and Grian need all their focus.

She turns to the next best thing. “Martyn, any chance you can actually hear how Gem’s going?”

Martyn rolls his eyes but he closes his eyes, tilting his head to the side. His brow furrows but doesn’t stay that way for long. His eyes open slowly as he looks up at Pearl. “She’s asleep, but stable. Ren’s pretty sure she’ll be better within a few days. Grian doesn’t think she’ll be on missions for at least two weeks.”

Pearl nods. Gem’s stable, that’s good. That means she’ll be able to see her within a few hours – possibly earlier. It’s as if Grian himself could hear them, because he appears from the corridor. His wings trail behind him, the bright parrot colors dulled from the stress.

“News?” Joel asks, glancing at Martyn.

Grian glares at Martyn as well. “You already know the news, because someone is nosy. Also, you shouldn’t be trying to kill Tango.”

Martyn squawks indignantly, sitting up. “How–”

Grian levels him with a cold stare. “I mimicked your power when I went down the hall to make sure you weren’t actually going to murder each other.”

“That should be illegal,” Martyn huffs, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, glowering at Grian. “Stealing my own bloody power and using it against me.”

Grian shrugs, taking the free armchair in the room. He puffs his wings up, letting them drape over the edge of it as he looks at Pearl. “You can go and see her now. Ren’s still in there just doing some final checks.”

Pearl’s already halfway down the corridor before he’s finished speaking. There are eight doors down the corridor. Seven of them lead to bedrooms, while the last leads to a small bathroom stocked with only the essentials – mainly bandages and antiseptic solutions. Pearl pushes past the pale pink door that leads into Gem’s room.

There’s a queen bed in the middle, no windows, and plants adding life. There’s a plain desk that’s empty except for a few pens and scattered papers and a plush armchair tucked into the corner and surrounded by bookshelves.

Ren’s still hunched over Gem’s bed, his ears pressed flat against his head and tail still, which certainly worries Pearl.

He looks up when Pearl closes the door, the soft sound echoing around the room. “She’s okay,” he assures, gesturing Pearl forward.

Gem is tucked under the covers, her face flushed and sweat coating her brow but she’s awake. Ren nods at Pearl once, swiftly leaving the room.

Pearl feels the tension ease out of her shoulders as she moves to the edge of the bed. “You scared me there Gem. What the fuck even happened.”

There’s a crack before Gem can even open her mouth to respond. Pearl turns, drawing her dagger before she’s even thinking. It’s still caked in blood from Myriad. Grian raises his hands in defense, wings bristling behind him. “It’s just me!”

Pearl glares at him, throwing the haladie onto the floor. “Stop taking my power,” she hisses, taking a seat on the edge of Gem’s bed. Grian rolls his eyes, the bright parrot plumage settling behind him as he tucks them in tighter.

He takes the armchair in the corner of the room, wings draping over the armrest. He’s more laidback when he’s just with Pearl and Gem, not having to hold up the stoic act he tends to with the rest of the team.

Pearl and Grian grew up together, to the point Pearl considers Grian a brother. Gem joined the deal a couple of years back when she started dating Pearl. It would just be plain weird if Grian was the same harsh and calculating figure around them.

“It’s faster when I can teleport around the place,” Grian protests. 

Pearl ignores him, turning back to Gem. She swings her leg onto the bed, hand finding Gem’s wrist. “Let’s get back to what happened, Gem.”

Gem groans, shifting until she’s sitting up slightly, propped up on her elbows. “That fucking Hawk guy. Got me with one of those arrows in my side which meant that Firefly bitch could hit me with brambles.”

“Can we address the elephant in the room,” Grian interrupts, stifling a yawn. “The blood on Pearl’s haladie? I thought you never used that thing."

“I had that Mirage dude pinned,” Pearl shrugs.

Gem gives Pearl a pointed look, quickly correcting her. “Myriad. And how the fuck did he escape if you had him pinned?”

“He was pissing me off,” Pearl admits, the slightest twinge of guilt twisting in her gut. She’s no stranger to the feeling – her line of work isn’t particularly the cleanest, but over time she’s learnt how to ignore it. Bury it so deep in her brain that it hardly ever raises its ugly head to the surface. “So I stabbed him in the leg. He’ll be out of action for a while, hopefully.”

“Why was the retreat called so quickly? We’d almost broken through,” Gem says, looking over at Grian.

Grian hesitates for only a second before giving an easy answer. “We were outnumbered. I could see The Fringe coming in and we know that they target us instead of the Speakers.”

“Who from the Fringe?” Pearl asks, curiosity pulling at her.

“Looked like Nyx and Aquila. Deadly duo – being blinded and then your movements predicted…” Grian trails off, shivering. “And there’s never just two of them – the other three would’ve been pushing in from the other side. There was no way we were winning that fight.”

“We need to launch a counter-attack,” Gem says instantly. “We know Myriad’s out of service and Anvil looked to be in bad shape. The others will still be exhausted if we act quickly.”

Grian shakes his head forcefully, just once, but it’s enough to get his point across. “But you’re out of action and Ren and Martyn took a beating when they were trapped. Both sides need time to recover, unfortunately.”

Pearl throws her head back, letting out a groan of frustration. Part of her wants to ignore Grian and jump back into the fight, sneak into the Speaker’s Head Quarters in the middle of the night and steal their classified files – or just destroy them, but she knows that’s a suicide mission.

“I take it you two are staying here tonight?” Grian asks after a long break of silence.

Pearl nods. Gem answers his question by shifting over, pulling the duvet of her bed back to let Pearl climb in under it. “The Concord will be looking for people injured around this time. Best if I stay hidden until I can walk without limping,” Gem says.

Grian stands with a huff, wings ruffling behind him. In reality, he should hide them when he’s out and about, but no one would ever make the connection between the inky black and eerie purple killer that’s known as Bird and the parrot plumage and innocent smiles of Grian.

“You could crash here too,” Gem suggests. “There’s a reason we’ve got beds.”

Grian looks like he wants to agree, but decides against it. “Should go about life as though it’s normal, draw suspicion away from us.”

“Please,” Pearl scoffs. “He just wants to spend time with his roommate.”

Grian makes an offended squawking noise, the small wings behind his ears flaring to their full length. “Scar and I are just good friends, nothing else.”

“That’s the excuse he always makes,” Pearl whispers rather loudly to Gem, pulling a laugh from the red head. Grian flips Pearl off, tucking his wings tightly before disappearing from the room in a harsh crack.

Pearl still finds it incredibly strange seeing her power in use from an outside perspective. It’s rather disorientating watching him disappear without so much of a trace left behind, only the slightest ripple of the air that fades within a second.

Gem yawns, shifting in the bed to lay her head on Pearl’s stomach. Pearl raises her hand, carding her fingers through the thick orange locks, careful to avoid the small antlers that adorn Gem’s head.

Within moments, Gem’s breathing levels out and soft snores fill the room. Pearl lets out a content sigh, slouching down in the bed to try and get at least a few hours of sleep.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Lizzie ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“How come we get here just as the fun finishes,” False complains, reaching up to rub at her eyes. Lizzie bites her cheek to hide the laugh as the heel of her hand hits the tinted glass of her goggles.

Impulse kicks a piece of rubble along the ground with his foot. “Because we don’t get the same fast-tracked information the Speakers get of Watcher attacks.”

“Complaining?” Lizzie asks sweetly, flicking the blade of her butterfly knife in and out.

Impulse shudders, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. Much prefer this vein of fighting.”

Lizzie nods her approval, pocketing her knife. “We should leave before the cleanup crew gets here. Otherwise we might be forced to answer press questions.”

“We never get to have any fun,” Skizz whines, white wings ruffling. Lizzie can’t see the lower half of his face thanks to the metal mask clipped in place, but she knows he’s frowning just based on the way his brows are furrowed and the scars intersecting across his face are wrinkled.

“Stop complaining Halo,” Impulse jabs. “At least we don’t have to worry about dealing with our own injuries.”

There’s a yell from nearby. Lizzie’s alert instantly, pulling the trident free from her back. Shadows start to swirl around her fingers as she looks around for the danger. There’s people decked out in camera gear and recording microphones running towards them.

“Shit,” False groans, spreading her wings out. “Sk– Halo and I will hold them off.”

Lizzie will have to reprimand her later for almost slipping up on Skizz’s name. Lizzie looks at Impulse, nods once and then the two are disappearing. Lizzie can hear the press pushing forward, yelling at them and waving cameras and recording boxes and boom mics in the air.

Impulse is stumbling over rubble, hardly keeping up with Lizzie. She grabs his wrist, pulling him into an alleyway and shrouding the two of them in shadows. Lizzie holds the button on her earpiece, having to shift her grip a few times before she hears the beep that indicates the comms are active.

“Halo, Aquila, we’re out of sight now. Leave whenever you see fit.”

There’s a rustle of movement as Skizz shoots into the air, the pearly white wings glinting the moonlight. False looks around once, spotting where Lizzie has manipulated the shadows to hide herself and Impulse. She doesn’t dwell on looking at them, taking off into the air close behind Skizz, her brown wings much less visible in the night.

“How long do we have to wait here?” Impulse asks, working on calming his breathing down.

Lizzie thinks for a second. “We’ll wait for confirmation from Halo and Aquila. Or maybe Nocturne once they’re back at base.”

“So we’re here for the long haul?”

“Seems like it,” Lizzie sighs. She readjusts her position, leaning behind a dumpster bin and focussing solely on keeping the shadows up. She feels her concentration shift and the shadows slip from out of her hair, revealing the pink colour.

Impulse is quiet for a few minutes before jumping up, an idea clearly forming behind his eyes. “We’re idiots! We can get out of this easily enough – you just need to blind everyone out there.”

Lizzie glares at him, despite knowing he won’t see her in the darkness. “You know very well that I don’t blind civilians if I can help it.”

“But you’ve got no issues blinding the Speakers or the Watchers?” Impulse retorts.

“You know we’re a morally ambiguous group. Our whole thing is getting our hands dirty to bring about peace. Did you not pay attention in the orientation?” she jokes, a small laugh escaping from between her lips.

Impulse doesn’t argue, slouching against the wall. Lizzie loses track of time, but it’s probably close to an hour before her earpiece crackles.

“ Nyx, Redshift, the coast is clear if you stick to the alleys,” False says. Lizzie groans as she drops the shadows, quickly weaving the darkness back through her hair.

Impulse scrambles to his feet, pulling his bow off his shoulders. It’s just a simple recurve bow, made from dark spruce wood with small engravings weaving through the grain. Lizzie tucks her trident against her back, twisting her shoulders to make sure it’s out of the way.

She reaches onto her belt, pulling free the simple pistol that holds a grappling hook at the end. Lizzie’s gaze lands on the top of the nearest building. She lines the shot up, pulling the trigger. She holds her stance, feeling her shoulder thrown back from the rebound of the fire. The line whistles through the air, a dull crunch as the sharp hooks lodge into the crumbling bricks.

“Hold on,” she warns Impulse, grabbing her companion’s wrist. She waits until Impulse has positioned himself correctly, bow ready in his free hand just in case, his other fingers gripped around Lizzie’s wrist so tight his knuckles are whitening.

Lizzie flicks another switch on the pistol. Her arm jerks in a way she’s incredibly used to as the line tightens, pulling both into the air.

Impulse throws his arm over the edge of the building, using it to pull himself up. Lizzie lets herself swing in the air, using her momentum to roll over the edge of the building. 

“Should be clear up here, right?” Impulse asks, holding his bow steady in front of him.

Lizzie glances around their surroundings – nothing but gravel, dust and a few broken air conditioning units. There’s a fire escape to one side that looks rusted and in no shape to use. “Yeah – let’s find somewhere we can change out.”

Moving across the rooftops is second nature to Lizzie. She relishes the thrill of jumping between rooftops, wind ripping at her outfit and a vast expanse of air under her feet. A smile tugs at her lips as she follows half a pace behind Impulse, easily rolling as she hits the ground.

“Down there,” he pants, pointing to a small alleyway that’s just off a midnight farmer’s market that’s definitely selling illegal goods. Or at least questionably sourced resources.

Lizzie nods, following Impulse down a fire escape and into the darkness. It’s easier to travel using the main streets, especially to get back to their base. 

Impulse ducks behind a small dumpster and Lizzie follows. It’s far easier for her to lose her disguise, twisting her fingers through the air. Shadows retreat from her hair and from across her face, revealing the pale skin and hair the colour of cherry blossoms.

Impulse yanks his helmet off, the metal clanging as it hits the ground. Lizzie readjusts her cloak, covering the trident across her back while Impulse allows the small horns to shift into darker black streaks through his brunette mess of hair.

“Bow,” Lizzie reminds him. Impulse clicks his fingers, pointing at her, repositioning his own cloak so only the string of his bow is showing across his chest. No one will question the strange helmet tucked under his arm in a place like this.

It’s easy to slip out into the market, the darkness already shrouding them. There’s a mob of people that hardly pay any attention to Impulse and Lizzie joining the herd of bodies.

Impulse takes the lead, his fingers wrapped firmly around Lizzie’s wrist to pull her through the densely packed market-goers.

Lizzie finds a shocking amount of comfort in the thrum of bodies, the smell of sweat mingling with the spices coming from countless food stalls. The lights are incredibly low, the darkness an easy thing for her to navigate, even with Impulse leading the way.

The streets are quiet after they’ve left the markets. Most people have heard of the most recent attack, opting to stay inside unless absolutely necessary – or they need their nightly supply of illegal products. Despite the flickering streetlamps casting an eerie glow in some places, it’s not particularly scary.

They’ve ended up relatively close to the abandoned warehouse that’s used as a base of operations for the Fringe.

Lizzie places her hand against the non-descript scanner that looks like a piece of technology that’s long since broken. It beeps, blinking green and there’s a hiss as the door unlocks.

Impulse pushes through it and is instantly attacked by Skizz. Lizzie pushes the two men into the warehouse, closing the door quickly. She hopes no one was around to see them. She takes all the precautions possible to make sure no one sees them or follows them back to their base, but it’s never going to be completely safe.

“Mumbo!” she yells through the empty halls, throwing her cloak onto the floor. 

There’s a scrambling sound as the tall man stumbles down the corridor, his normally tidy hair a bit of a mess. “What’s up?”

Lizzie yanks a small device out of her ear, dropping the comms in his outstretched palm. “It’s broken again. Took me a couple of tries to get it working.”

Mumbo groans but pockets the device, promising that he’ll fix it. Lizzie flops onto the couch in the main living area, hair splaying around her head. “False, we need to talk about the fact you almost blew Skizz’s identity.”

False grimaces slightly, sitting on the coffee table in front of Lizzie. “That’s my bad – I got caught up in the moment. Don’t think anyone heard it though.”

Lizzie doesn’t have the energy to keep up the argument, her willpower deflating after another failed mission. She hears the door to the living area creak shut. She manages to find the energy to lift her head to see Skizz pulling Impulse in, Mumbo close behind.

No better time to discuss plans when the whole team is in one spot and more or less attentive. There’s no easy way to bring it up either, so Lizzie just goes for it. “We need a better way to know when there’s an attack happening. Relying on the news reports means we’re getting there far too late – Mumbo, do you think there’s any way of hacking into the Speaker’s database?”

Mumbo pauses, leaning against the wall and thinking. “Maybe, but it’ll take a while. There’s a possibility it’ll be easier if I’ve got some sort of thumb drive or something of theirs that’s to do with technology, because I can use the coding in that to crack through…”

“So you’re saying you need us to steal something of theirs?” False asks, leaning back on her hands, tilting her head. Her goggles are pushed up in her hair, making quite a mess.

Mumbo nods, pulling out a tablet and typing away at it. “I can get to their firewalls fairly easily – it’s something I’ve been working on for a while, but the firewalls are always a problem. But I see something here that’s encoded with a pattern that should be in the rest of their tech.”

Lizzie holds up her hands, scrambling up so she’s sitting. “Dude, don’t really care about the technological side of it, so long as you can get it to work. What type of tech do you think you’d need?”

“Comms would be best, they’ve usually got the most tech in them,” Mumbo mutters, half to himself. “If not, I’ve seen Myriad use that blue shield. If those are too difficult, then just a tablet. It’ll take longer to get the code through a tablet though because I’ll have to hack into that first.”

“We can get comms,” Skizz declares. “I think… right?”

Lizzie finds it rather hilarious the way he turns to her to check. She nods in confirmation. “We should be able to, so long as we’re first on scene to the next attack. Imp, you could lift one out right?”

“Probably, but I’d need a clear view,” Impulse agrees.

“Keep a lookout for any possible opportunities – attacks, scouting missions, anything. We need to be more on the ball if we ever want a chance at stopping this war.”

The rest of the group nods at Lizzie’s words, falling into an easy banter with the debrief finished. Lizzie lets herself slouch back on the couch, the tension easily rolling off her shoulders as the easy chatter of the group echoes around the dingy walls.

Chapter Text

See, your face wasn’t quite as I remember

But I know that wicked shape to your smile

So bury me as it pleases you, lover

At sea, or deep within the catacomb

But these bones never rested while living

So how can they stand to languish in response?

He has thrown down the cavalry as gravel sinks

And as the stone founders underneath the sundered sea of red and reed

The shadow of Hades is fading

For he has cast down Leviathan, the tyrant, and the horse and rider

- Where Is Your Rider by The Oh Hellos

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Scar ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“It’s been almost a week since we’ve seen the Watchers,” Blink complains. “They’re never dormant without a reason.”

Scar sighs, running a hand down his face. He stops when he feels the fabric of his mask threatening to slip. “The most recent fight was harsher than normal. Both of us came out with incredibly bad injuries. We both need time to recover.”

Blink shifts uncomfortably. “I know their workings, HG. Even with one or more of them bed-ridden, they would’ve been planning. We need to be prepared.”

Scar considers his words. It’s no secret amongst their team that Blink was formally known as Flicker, allied with the Watchers from the very beginning. It took a year for him to be let out of the Speakers’ holding cell, and longer still for him to be accepted onto the team. But Scar knows that he doesn’t mean harm for anyone now. It doesn’t stop the muscles that tense around the room at the mention of Blink’s past.

“Blink, it’s been years since you’ve even so much as interacted with the Watchers. They’re tactics have probably changed – probably did two years ago when Flux and Vision joined their forces,” Myriad says gently. His leg is propped up and bound tightly in bandages, but Scar can tell it’s nowhere near as inflamed as it was even just a few days ago.

Blink huffs in frustration, black feathers around his ears flaring dramatically. “You might not believe me, but we’re sitting here doing nothing. Can you all at least just humor me and be on the highest alert possible. Amp up defenses and have someone on watch at all times?”

Scar thinks over the other man’s words. He lets them roll over in his mind, almost missing the way six pairs of eyes are watching him intently, waiting for his answer.

“It can’t hurt to be on alert,” he says slowly, ignoring the way Blink’s feathers noticeably calm, his posture dropping to be far more relaxed. “I’ll work on setting up a roster. For now, Grave Digger, can you take a watch?”

The phantom nods, standing with a huff and making their way towards the small room that’s dedicated to watching security cameras surrounding the Head Quarters.

“Thank you,” Blink whispers. Scar nods once, rather stiff as he turns back to the group. He flicks his comms on so Grave Digger can hear the conversation, watching as everyone fiddles with the settings on their own comms to hear only Grave Digger and not the annoying echo of Scar’s voice coming a few seconds later.

Scar thinks for a second before speaking slowly. “We need to launch our own attack. Letting them come to us… it’s letting them set the placement of the attack, the time, who takes on who. We need to have our own rules when fighting them.”

“How do you suggest we do that?” Anvil asks, clocking an eyebrow at Scar. “It’s not like it’s a particularly easy group to track down. I’ll give them that.”

Scar thinks, because he was hoping that the rest of the team had their own ideas. “I open the floor up to you.”

Lapse groans, hunching his shoulders slightly. “‘Course you leave all the hard planning for us!”

“Well, I was going for equality in a team.” Lapse just laughs at Scar’s words.

“We’ll regroup at the next meeting. Everyone comes up with ideas by then,” Myriad suggests. Scar nods, because that sounds like the best way to have a successful plan. Scar will be the first to admit he relies heavily on his teammates when it comes to heists and the logistics that come with them. He’s not the best when it comes to the intricacies of plans.

Everyone starts to move, packing up their things to go home. A plan that Scar had many years ago jumps to the forefront of his mind. Scar knows it’s incredibly risky, but he grabs Blink’s wrist anyway, urging him to stay back.

Everyone’s gone except Anvil, who retires to his room for the night. Scar’s never bothered to question why Anvil chooses to stay at Head Quarters, because everyone has their reasons. Scar himself has had to stay back on occasion, to heal from injuries sustained in battle. His excuses have grown increasingly more elaborate to his roommate about his adventures – a rabid dog loose in his office building or a birthday party of some unnamed coworker.

“What’s up?” Blink asks as Scar directs him into the breakroom. The kettle still seems to be hot from someone making a cup of coffee, and there’s a few dirty plates in the sink that Scar will need to clean up later.

Scar leans against the counter, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “It’s about launching an attack on them. It would be best to catch them by surprise… at their base.”

Blink never shows much skin, black feathers covering the upper half of his face with a gas mask that covers his jaw. Long sleeves that lack the cropped cut and mesh panels that Scar’s outfit holds. But what little skin Scar can see – his ears, a smidge of skin under messy blond hair, a slither where the gas mask and feathers don’t quite meet. Every inch of it blanches, draining any amount of colour that was in them.

“No,” Blink croaks, shaking his head rapidly. “I know what you’re asking, Hawk. I can’t… I can’t do that. They’ll find me. They’ll know it was me.”

Scar tilts his head, brows furrowing in confusion. Blink’s reaction was fast and fearful and if his breathing was anything to go off his heart was beating rapidly. “What do you mean they’ll find you?”

Blink swallows thickly, stumbling back until his lower back hits the small circular table. He leans back on his hands, blinking back the shine of tears. “They know my face. We all knew each other’s faces. They’d find me because they’d know it was me. No one else knows the base’s location so they’d track me down.”

Scar’s stomach lurches and he feels bile rise in his throat. He’s known Blink for almost six years, and never once was he told that the Watchers knew each other’s faces. Blink lied to them and Scar has half a mind to lunge at him and attack him until he reveals the identities of Scar’s worst enemies. He takes a deep breath instead.

“We can’t have this conversation here.” His voice feels foreign, scratching his throat which is bone dry now. The logical part of him is giving Blink the benefit of the doubt. “If anyone hears you, there’ll be a dagger through your throat before you can take a breath to explain.”

Blink trembles but he nods anyway. “My apartment’s not far from here. I live alone.”

Scar doesn’t want to reveal Blink’s apartment, but he knows his roommate will be home from work, and he can’t think of a better option for a conversation like this. He lets Blink lead him out of the Head Quarters, constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure they’re not being followed, paranoia following him the entire ten minute walk through the streets. He feels like he’s going to get jumped at every turn.

Blink’s apartment is nothing special – a bedroom in the corner of the main living space, a tiny kitchen and a T.V. that’s definitely been broken for a few months now. The couch looks lumpy, the pale mustard colour rather uninviting. There’s a sterile white light glowing from another room which Scar assumes is the bathroom.

He knows the Speakers pay well, so a part of him wonders why Blink’s never upgraded his furniture.

Blink reaches up, unclipping the back of his gas mask as if on instinct. Scar is quick to stop him, holding out his hand.

“If you reveal your identity, I may have no choice but to turn you in,” Scar warns. “And I want to trust you right now.”

Blink hasn’t said a word the entire time they were walking. He hardly even made a sound as he unlocked the door to his apartment. He speaks now, though, his words shaky and quiet. “I need you to trust me, but I’m not going to put you in a position where you have to choose between me and them.”

Scar knows he’s referring to the Speakers. Despite his previous declaration, Blink’s feathers ruffle as the plumage that covers the top half of his face retreats back. Scar can see now that he’s got two sets of wings on either side of his head, both sitting just behind his ears.

There’s a dusting of freckles just under his eyes that Scar’s never seen before and a small scar from his right temple that cuts through his eyebrow, stopping just before his eyelid.

Scar’s heart is trying to break free of his chest. There’s a rational part of him that says he’s seen parts of all his team’s faces before – Anvil’s eyes above his sturdy mask, Grave Digger’s lips pulling into a smirk at every one of their words, glimpses of Lapse’s features when the moss of his cloak shifts slightly.

Still, it’s unnerving to see even this much of Blink’s face after it had been so carefully hidden for so long. Scar takes a shaky seat on the couch, finding it surprisingly comfortable despite the lumps.

“Tea?” Blink asks, flicking the tips of his wings out to hit the light switch. It’s dim and murky in the apartment even with the added light.

Scar shakes his head. “Can’t take the masks off,” he reminds Blink, who deflates slightly. “I think you need to start explaining.”

Blink’s words are choked with a sob as he perches on the edge of the coffee table. His wings wrap around his body, curling tightly in on himself. The smaller pair of wings that Scar’s used to are pressed flat against his head, like a dog pinning their ears. The larger pair are ruffled and still, tucked tightly amongst his hair.

“I’m sorry.”

Scar doesn’t know how to respond, because Blink has every right to be sorry. And Scar has every right to ignore his apology, take him back to the Speakers and have him locked up for hiding valuable information about the Watchers.

He sighs, reaching up and flicking the button on his visor. The orange and blue tint fades from his vision, the constant HUD disappearing from sight as the visor powers down. “I’m going to hear you out. Because I want to believe everything we’ve been told over the past six years isn’t a complete lie.”

“It’s not,” Blink says, shaking. “I left the Watchers because I didn’t agree with them. I don’t want to be associated with them, and I have no qualms about fighting them when they come to us. But I can't go to them, I can’t be the one to initiate the attack.”

Scar’s got a million questions, but he knows the most important one. “Why?”

“Bird’s my brother.”

If Scar thought he was sick before, he may as well be dead now. He feels light-headed at the answer, his breathing shortening to rapid inhales that hardly have time to exhale before the next. His palms are clammy and brain fuzzy as he tries to process what Blink just said.

“I have half a mind to be the one to put the dagger through your throat,” Scar eventually says, voice far stronger than he feels. It’s cold and remorseless, his eyes narrowing on Blink’s features.

The shorter man holds his hands up, hanging his head. “I’ll go willingly if you want to drag me back to the Speakers – I won’t fight or struggle, but please just hear me out.”

Scar doesn’t want to. He wants to grab Blink by the wings and haul him back down the street and throw the liar into a cell to rot forever. He forces his heart into a slower pace, nodding at Blink to continue. He flexes his fingers, shifting until he feels the press of his dagger handle against his hip, within easy reach.

Blink takes a shaky breath, hands lowering slowly when he realises Scar isn’t going to kill him immediately. “I grew up with Bird – same mother. Portal as well… she’s like our sister and Echo came a few years later. Of course, I didn’t have a choice to join the Watchers, expected to carry the family name or some bullshit. I was with them for years and went along with their plans and that’s the biggest shame of my life. You know the rest of the story – six years ago I deflected with another and I came to you.”

“Another…” Scar repeats slowly, mind reeling with this new information.

Blink nods, wings wrapping even tighter around himself. “Comet. You know her now as Nyx – I was with her briefly after I left, but the Fringe isn’t far off from The Watchers. I needed a complete out, but I was tied to this way of life for good. I’d never be able to go back to living a normal life, I moved somewhere untraceable, smashed my old phone, I move every few months now. I never leave the house without a mask, I don’t have legal documents anymore, I don’t go to doctors, I shop at shady markets that still accept cash, which is very rare – I’m completely gone.”

Scar swallows, his throat hurting at the scratchy and dry feeling of the motion. “You became untraceable.”

Blink makes a noise, as if he was about to speak – possibly a name of someone. He cuts himself off before the noise has even had a chance to fully leave his throat before continuing. “Bird would find me if I stayed still for too long. They were never particularly happy that I had left – they know who I am, Hawk. If I told you guys where to go… they’d stop at nothing until they found me. They’ve got my name and face – it wouldn’t take much. It’s a miracle they haven’t already. I don’t think they’ve pieced it together, because I could tell that the Watchers were never honest, so I took that on. I never revealed the extent of my powers to them.”

Something clicks in Scar’s mind and he’s off the couch in a second. He feels the tattered wings behind him flare, catching the eerie glow of the room's dim lights like a suncatcher. “You know their names! Blink–”

“Jimmy.”

Scar stops in his rant, wings fluttering back to their normal useless state behind him. Blink stares back at him, visibly trembling. To his credit he doesn’t back down as Scar looks at him. “Is that their name – Bird’s. That’s a start– we can run records on a name like that and find out where he is.”

“No,” Blink responds, shaking his head slightly. “Bird’s name is something else… My name is Jimmy.”

“What the fuck,” Scar’s response is instant, stumbling back until he hits the couch, falling back into the cushions. “Why would you say that? Why–”

“I haven’t been called by my actual name in six years,” Blink – Jimmy – responds, blinking back tears. “I don’t have friends outside of the Speakers, who all know me as Blink. I don’t go out ever, which means the only people that know my name are them. I need to feel like myself again, please.”

Scar exhales, loudly and shakily. He feels like he needs to lie down, the bombardment of information far too much to handle. “Bl- Jimmy– that doesn’t get you out of the fact you know all their names and faces and are withholding that information.”

“In my defense I don’t know Flux and Vision’s identities,” Jimmy tries, laughing drily. The sound doesn’t feel right in his apartment. “And I would tell you, really, but I can’t. I think I’d even risk being found by them.”

“Then why won’t you tell us?” Scar asks gently, clasping his hands in his lap and leaning forward. “You could end the whole war if you told us, and we’d protect you in every aspect to make sure nothing happened.”

Jimmy’s shoulders shake as a sob escapes his lips. “Becuase Bird and Portal – they’re still my siblings. Spark and Echo were like my second family and it took me five years to get over losing Storm. When they attack us I can put all that to the side, say that they’re different, that I’m just defending myself… but going after them?”

Scar does understand, at least a part of him does. How can he ask Jimmy to attack people he used to view as family out of anything other than self defense? He feels his heart tearing slightly, over the loyalty for his team and the want to keep Jimmy safe.

“You can take me in,” Jimmy says when Scar’s been quiet for too long. “Just give me a few days to make sure Norman’s taken care of.”

“Norman?” Scar asks slowly, his brain struggling to catch up.

Jimmy whistles, rubbing his fingers together. There’s a small jingling sound and a large ball of fluff rolls out from under Jimmy’s bed, mewling slightly. “I’ll need to find a shelter that can take him and make sure he finds somewhere safe.”

“I’m not going to take you in,” Scar admits, reaching out to let the cat sniff his hands. “And I’m not going to force you to tell me what you know.”

Scar’s caught off guard when he feels arms wrap around him. He vaguely hears Jimmy crying as he buries his head into Scar’s shoulder, choking out thanks. Scar knows he’s made the right decision – it’s also going to be a hell of a lot harder to find a way to attack the Watchers now.

Jimmy sniffs, the sound muffled by his mask, and pulls back, rubbing at red and puffy eyes. “I’ll still help you find a way to stop this. And I won’t hesitate in a fight – they certainly don’t and they knew me for over a decade.”

Scar nods stiffly, standing with a grunt. He realises that all his stuff is back at Head Quarters – everything except his phone. “Fuck,” he mutters, pulling the thin device out. “Is the quickest way back to Head Quarters the same way we came? I need to get my normal clothes.”

Jimmy must realise that they both walked the entire way to his apartment looking like Speakers because a startled laugh escapes him, wings flaring slightly. “You can borrow a jumper if you want and pick everything up tomorrow.”

It would be far easier – Scar’s apartment is in the opposite direction of Head Quarters. He caves, nodding slightly. The jumper Jimmy provides is a simple zip up that’s slightly too small on his broad shoulders but the hood shadows his face.

Scar bends down to give Norman one last pat before resting his hand on the door knob. He turns around, smiling despite knowing Jimmy won’t see it. “And Jimmy? If you need anything, let me know, okay? You can always crash at mine between places, or I’m sure Anvil would be happy to have a roommate at Head Quarters.”

Jimmy’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “Thank you, Hawk.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Grian ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Knock knock I’m home!” Scar yells, pushing the door open with his shoulder.

Grian rolls his eyes, hardly even looking over his shoulder. “Well there goes my peace and quiet. I take it you’re hungry?”

“When am I not?” Scar chuckles. Grian glances up in time to see his roommate hurrying down the hall, a strange jumper pulled over his head. Grian shrugs it off, because he more than anyone should know people have their own secrets.

He ignores the pang in his stomach at the thought of whose jumper it might be. There’s a few beeps as the microwave finishes, the sound loud and piercing. Grian grabs the noodles out, tipping the water down the sink and portioning the food out between two bowls. He adds a helping of boiled frozen vegetables.

“Scar! It’s getting cold,” Grian calls down the hallway, grabbing his bowl and curling up on the couch. It takes a bit of positioning to get into a comfortable position, ending up sideways with his wings draped over the edge of the plush furnishing. 

There’s a crash down the hallway followed by Scar emerging, his cheeks flushed as he pulls a basic shirt over his head, the fabric catching against his shoulders.

Grian looks away pointedly, waving behind him to the noodles still on the counter.

“State of the art cooking. Five star michelin restaurant,” Scar comments, taking the other side of the couch, his legs tangling with Grian. His own wings are a lot less cared for, the tattered, translucent blue crumpling under his weight. Grian wants to ask whether he can feel it, but he knows wings are often a sensitive topic for avians, and he has no idea if vex are the same.

Grian kicks his foot out, hitting Scar in the upper thigh. His noodles almost spill all over the floor. “It is perfectly fine cooking after a long day at work I’ll have you know.”

“Ah yes, statistical anticlimactic and data rectifying right?” Scar chuckles.

Grian rolls his eyes dramatically. “Statistical analysis and data reconfiguration. You know this!”

“I do, I do! It’s just fun to rile you up,” the other man jokes. Grian huffs, reaching out to hit the on button on the remote. The TV springs to life, the dull noise breaking the silence of the room. It’s switched on to a news report, a red banner cycling along the bottom about an attack.

Grian forces himself not to panic and switch to a different channel, narrowing his eyes as he watches the events play out. He knows exactly how this fight ends. He knows the exact moment the reporter announces; ‘and there we see Bird, most infamous of the Watchers.’

“That was near your work, right?” Grian asks, trying to keep his voice at a normal pacing and level.

Scar’s answer is non-committal – a half shrug and nod. “A few blocks away, yeah. Don’t worry, I stayed inside and came home the long way – crashed at Scott’s place until the coast was clear. I know you always get nervous about the attacks.”

Grian feels a slight amount of relief. He’d never tell Scar why he got nervous whenever there was an attack near where Scar would be, but he’d also never year the end of it from Pearl and Gem if he convinced the team not to attack near Scar’s whereabouts.

“Glad that you stayed safe,” Grian grunts,  the wings around his ears shifting a few times. He bends one in, using the tips of the feathers to brush hair out of his face and wrestle it into place away from his eyes.

Scar hums, leaning forward to grab the remote. He cycles through a few channels before landing on some shitty animated show that definitely has a few too many jokes in it to be classified as PG anymore.

Grian sets his empty bowl aside, hanging his head back. “Also Pearl’s going to come over tomorrow. Gem’ll probably be with her – is that okay?”

“‘Course it is,” Scar responds quickly. “I think Scott and Bdubs are over here often enough. Only fair you let your friends come over as well.”

“Pearl’s not my friend – she’s an incredibly annoying entity that I want to punch like a sibling. And her and Gem are a package deal,” Grian laughs. Scar laughs in return, the sound echoing delightfully around the apartment. Grian lets his eyes drift shut, leaning against the back of the couch.

Grian almost asks Scar about his day, his time at work. But he fears that’ll ask for a reciprocation of the words, and there’s only so much he can bullshit about a job he’s fairly certain is made up. But when Scar willingly offers up the information, Grian’s more than willing to listen as much as the other man can talk.

“I met a new friend today,” Scar says. “On my way back from work. Might invite him over some time, if you don’t mind. He seems lonely.”

It’s as much Scar’s apartment as it is Grian’s, so he hardly hesitates before he answers. “Sure you can. What’s his name?”

Grian’s heart drops at his roommate's next words. “Jimmy.”

Grian hasn’t heard that name in almost five years now. The Watchers stopped searching for Jimmy after he moved for the sixth time in a month and they lost track of him. A part of Grian’s always wanted to track down one he used to call a brother, but how do you track down someone who can camouflage that easily with his surroundings.

There was a time where he thought Blink might’ve been Jimmy, but the hair was a few shades too dark and the wings slightly the wrong size. And whilst the powers were eerily similar, Jimmy had only ever been able to hold the invisibility for a few seconds to get out of situations, so he ruled it off as nothing more than a crazy coincidence, which happens far too often in a city this large.

He has no idea if this Jimmy that Scar’s made friends with is his Jimmy. In fact, the rational part of his brain knows that it’s so incredibly unlikely in Spire, the population steadily climbing towards the millions. His breath is still short and rapid.

“You okay?” Scar asks, clearly having noticed Grian’s change.

He forced his wings to flatten, the feathers calming slightly. “Yeah, sorry, I just remembered that I forgot to do something at work. I’ll just message Ren and get him to check on it.”

Scar buys the excuse. Grian feels guilty for lying like this, but he knows that it’s necessary to keep himself hidden. He pulls out his phone, navigating to the messages that are hidden behind what looks like a harmless puzzle game.

Bird: @Echo can you do another dive on Flicker? Get back to me ASAP

Echo: Copy that. Is there a reason why?

Bird: Just heard the name. Was wondering if he’s let his guard down enough to let himself be found. Keep me updated.

He can see that Martyn’s read the message, but hasn’t bothered responding. He knows he’ll be the first to know if he finds something though.

“Everything sorted?” Scar asks innocently, leaning against the back of the couch lazily.

Grian nods. “Ren’s going to switch off the monitor I left on.” He hates how easily the lies are able to roll from his tongue, a second nature at this point.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾✩☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

It’s the middle of the night when Grian’s phone buzzes. He’d normally ignore it, but he knows that vibration pattern specifically. He fumbles around on his bedside table, hitting the lamp on and blinking as the room is flooded with a soft yellow light. He can hear Scar’s soft snores through the wall, the other man peacefully asleep.

Grian flicks his phone on, nothing visible on the lock screen. He opens up the puzzle app, finding a new message from Martyn glaring back at him.

Echo: I found something. You might want to come back to base and take a look at this – it seems you were right. He’s let his guard down.

Grian’s thrown the duvet back before he’s even finished scanning the message. He makes sure he’s quiet as he maneuvers a simple black jumper around his wings, pulling the hood over his head. He slips his phone into his pocket with nothing else.

He does have the thought to leave a small note on the dining table for when Scar inevitably wakes up. He claims work’s called him in for an emergency and he’ll be back later.

It’s 2am when he finally shuts the door quietly behind him, slipping the key under the mat of the apartment.

The streets are almost dead, only a few people scrambling home from late shifts at emergency clinics, or from black markets or late night trips to see their friends. Grian spreads his wings out, launching into the air to weave through the buildings faster.

He relishes the way the wind tugs at his clothes, stinging his cheeks. His apartment isn’t far from the Watchers’ base. He’s in a side alley within a few minutes. The entrance is nondescript, a simple shop that’s been run down and abandoned for over two decades. Grian pushes through the door that looks locked.

There’s a ladder at the end of the hall that Grian drops down easily, closing the manhole above him. The lights are sterile and overly bright, but Grian ignores them, letting his feet hastily carry him towards the security room where he assumes Martyn is.

The other man is huddled over a monitor, his scaly black wings curled around his figure.

“What’s the verdict?” Grian asks, hardly even startling Martyn. He turns, tucking hair around his horns to keep it out of his face.

Martyn pushes his chair back, nodding at the screen. “Seems you were right – it’s been five years since any of us tried to go after him. He’s gotten sloppy. Security footage caught him entering an apartment not too far from where we attacked recently."

The footage is grainy and hard to decipher. Grian narrows his eyes, examining the video. There’s a figure striding across the footpath, pale wings dragging behind him. Grian can’t see his face just yet, but he can recognise the walking pattern – the slightest limp that’s not visible unless you’re looking for it, gained from the days they used to spend training. Jimmy had been hit by a particularly brutal lunge, knee popping out of place. It’s never fully recovered from that.

“Anything else?” Grian asks, squinting. Martyn nods, clicking a few buttons to pull up another grainy, grayscale feed. Jimmy’s hand is on a doorknob as he struggles to get the key in. The door swings open and he looks back for just a second.

Martyn pauses the footage, zooming in on the face. There’s a thin fabric mask that obscures the bottom half of Jimmy’s face, but the dusting of freckles is still seen. What really gives it away to Grian though is the way Jimmy uses his wings when Martyn starts the footage again.

His left curls around the edge of the door, pulling it behind him while Grian sees his right wing flick out and the lights in the apartment turn on. The feed cuts out, anything of interest finished.

Grian recognises Jimmy from the way his wings aren’t just useless limbs when not in use, but act as an extra hand or arm when needed. He knows this behavior, because he was the one that taught it to Jimmy.

“When was this footage from?” Grian asks, leaning against the wall as Martyn drags the footage back to the split second it landed on Jimmy’s face.

“Three days ago,” Martyn responds and Grian feels his heart rate spike slightly.

He’s turning and moving towards the bedroom dedicated to him before his brain has caught up. Martyn catches his wrist, forcing him to turn around. “G, what are you planning?”

“Just a small visit,” Grian responds coldly. He rips his arm out of Martyn’s grip, continuing down the hall.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Jimmy ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Jimmy pushes the door open with a groan. He makes sure it’s closed behind him, dropping his bag in the entrance to be dealt with later. He can hardly see anything in the dim lighting, only a few shadows and smudges in the darkness indicating where his furniture is.

Unfortunately, the overhead lights broke only a day ago and Jimmy hasn’t had the energy to fix them. He stumbles across the timber floors, swearing as his hip hits the corner of his couch. He feels around with his hands, grinning as he flicks the lamp that's on his coffee table.

The couch groans as he sits down, sinking under his weight. Jimmy realises something feels off in his apartment as soon as he feels the air shift behind him.

He doesn’t turn in time before there’s a mass flying at his chest. His first thought is that it’s Norman. His second is that it’s far too large to be his cat and he’s in deep, deep shit right now.

He doesn’t have time to fight back before there’s a weight pressed against him, pinning him back into the couch with the cold blade of a dagger against his throat.

He wouldn’t have been able to fight back even if he tried, his weapons hidden under a loose floorboard near his bed and anything else back at Head Quarters.

Jimmy’s breathing is heavy and his eyes aren’t focussing properly. He forces himself to level his breathing, because he knows that all it takes is one wrong move and that dagger will be coated in his blood.

His vision is finally starting to clear, the figure above him focussing properly. Jimmy has to swallow down the bile, because he recognises who it is immediately.

He hasn’t seen Bird – Grian – up close like this in years. His hair is slightly longer than Jimmy remembers, and his wings are the deep glossy black, the slightest shine of purple glinting across the surface that only comes with his disguise. There’s a purple haze around his face that stops Jimmy from fully seeing his features.

The haze dissipates within a few seconds, revealing a sneer and two eyes that are eerily dark, boring into Jimmy’s own.

“Grian,” Jimmy manages to whisper, his voice cracking. He feels the blade bite into his skin, blood welling to the surface only slightly. Grian reaches up with his free hand, ripping the fabric mask off Jimmy’s face. He hears the seams rip slightly, but Grian doesn’t seem to care, throwing the fabric to the side.

Grian snarls, leaning in closer. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Jimmy doesn’t doubt that he will. His mind is racing at a hundred miles an hour, trying to find an excuse to spare his own life. He could try to be sentimental, guilt Grian out of killing his own brother. He knows his efforts would be in vain.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Jimmy gasps, leaning back as far as possible, trying to lessen the pressure on his neck.

Grian tilts his head, teeth flashing in a malicious grin. “And why not? You betrayed us. I think I have every reason to.”

An idea is forming in Jimmy’s mind. He knows it’s risky, but he has to do it. “I can get you information. That– that’s why I left. To gain their trust so I could come back. I was going to wait for a few more months. They’re in the middle of planning something big.”

“Who’s them?” Grian asks, his hand flexing. The dagger lifts slightly, but remains only a hair width away from Jimmy’s skin.

Jimmy gulps, forcing himself to look up at Grian, his own hazel eyes meeting Grian’s onyx. “The Speakers. I’m with the Speakers.”

Grian’s weight lessens, but he doesn’t push himself fully off Jimmy. The blade is still within easy access of Jimmy’s neck. “That’s why you fucking left?”

“It would’ve given it up if I told you,” Jimmy swallows. He feels sick having to lie like this, having to betray his team, but he doesn’t doubt Grian’s ability to stab that dagger through his throat, or into his chest, or across his limbs just to cause pain. “When I first joined them they were suspicious and tracked me non-stop. I couldn’t have gone to you, or given reason. It needed to be authentic. One slip up in battle would’ve given everything away, so I played the long game. I’ve only just earned their trust.”

“I don’t trust you,” Grian drawls, leaning back further to examine Jimmy’s face. “It’s been six fucking years. But if you can provide useful intel regularly, I will consider keeping you alive.”

Jimmy exhales shakily as Grian finally stands, making no effort to leave the apartment. Jimmy pulls his feet up, tucking his knees against his chest. He realises that Grian’s waiting for him to speak. His mind is racing – he could go to Hawk, tell him everything, but…

“I can see what you’re thinking about,” Grian laughs coldly. “I’ll know the second you go to anyone, because if you want to keep your life, you’re going to allow me to bug you – just a small chip that we can listen in on. The weaknesses of your so-called teammates will do, to start with.”

Jimmy’s hands are shaking as he tucks them under his knees, squishing them tightly. “Lapse isn’t good at combat – he never covers his back. Firefly and Anvil rely far too heavily on their powers – exhaust them enough and they’ll be weaker. Grave Digger is easily angered. Myriad doesn’t like fighting dirty – too honourable.”

“And Hawk?” Grian asks, tilting his head, eyes calculating and cold. “What’s his deal?”

“He hates using his full power,” Jimmy admits. “Fighting and magic – he holds back.”

Grian nods, seemingly pleased with Jimmy’s response. “Their names? Faces?”

“I don’t know,” Jimmy stutters, shaking his head. “The Speakers – they operate differently. We don’t reveal our identities to each other.”

“Fine,” Grian huffs, digging around in his pocket and pulling out a small bracelet. “You’ve bought yourself another week of living.”

Jimmy takes the bracelet with shaking hands. It’s a thin black band of cold metal with a small purple disc set in. Grian grabs Jimmy’s wrist, forcefully pulling it closer. The band bites into Jimmy’s skin as it clicks into place, a lock hissing as it’s clasped. Jimmy tugs at it a few times to test it, but there’s no movement.

“Just a simple tracker and listening device,” Grian hums. “You won’t be able to get it off without damaging it, there’s no point trying. You try to tamper with it, everyone on the Watchers will be notified and you’ll be dead before you can get help.”

There are no goodbyes passed between the two before Grian is pushing the purple haze back over his face and disappearing so silently it’s as though he were just a ghost.

Jimmy feels his eyes stinging with tears, but he doesn’t have the energy to rub them away. He curls up against the couch, the band digging into his skin painfully, burning cold and impossible to forget.

Jimmy knows he’s just put himself on a timer. The information he gave Grian won’t hold him off for long – he needs to find a way to tell Hawk without Grian finding out, which is going to be a lot more difficult than it should be.

He hopes Hawk doesn’t kill him immediately, because he only just talked him out of it when he discovered Jimmy knew the identity of the Watchers. He’s more inclined to give them up now, but that’s if Scar doesn’t plunge an arrow through him as soon as he shares the new information.

Why do so many people want to kill him? His hands hover over his phone, mind battling against itself. He caves, picking up the device and flicking it on. He doesn’t trust Grian not to have some way to track his messages, but there’s no way he can face his team tomorrow after that interaction… after he so blatantly betrayed them.

Blink: i dont think i can come in tmrw, ive got a terrible cold

Blink: ill take the day to rest if im not needed?

Hawk: Thatll be fine, feel better soon Blink

Grade Digger: Dammit who are we going to bully now??

Myriad: prolly Lapse. He seems like the next best option.

Lapse: oi?? Nu uhhh

Anvil: HA that checks out

Jimmy shuts his phone off despite knowing there’ll be many more messages coming through. He doesn’t think he has the heart to joke around with them like he normally does.

There’s a ringtone, which is strange. The encrypted messages that Jimmy uses don’t notify him in any way, and no one messages him through normal means anymore.

Unknown Number: Remember our deal, Flicker. You go to anyone for help, and you won’t live to see the next sunrise. I’ll see you soon. –🪶

Chapter Text

Welcome to the circus

The one and only parade

Where you can serve us, our entertainment and pay

We’re eating popcorn in the stands

Conductor’s striking up the band

The curtain’s opening, they’re lighting the stage

Welcome to this most spectacular of festivities

Where we eat off the table, while you eat off of our feet

As you will grow we won’t forget

No, we’ll be with you every step

Isn’t it comforting to know we are here?

- Welcome to the Circus by Skittish

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Martyn ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Martyn’s stomach hurts as he hunches over, grabbing at his side. His wheezing laughter echoes around the room while tears gather in the corners of his eyes.

“You actual fucking dumbass,” he manages to huff, glaring at Oli, who is currently drenched in water. He’s still got the bucket in his hands, dangling loosely from his fingers. Martyn’s not even sure how the other man managed to trip so terribly that he got the water up and over his head, completely drenching his newly styled hair.

Eloise groans, a smirk playing across her lips as she throws a t-shirt that had previously been folded on the couch. “I really picked an idiot, didn’t I?”

Oli grins sheepishly, taking the shirt and trying to soak up some of the water that’s sticking his hair to his forehead.

“Sometimes I wonder how I haven’t killed you all in your sleep,” Cleo mutters, their eyes narrowing on Oli, the slightest glimmer of amusement visible. They pull their phone out, the screen illuminating her face slightly.

Martyn finally manages to compose himself, leaning back in the chair. 

Their apartment isn’t much – two bedrooms and a bathroom, a tiny kitchen and a living room that has cream walls with paint peeling off. Martyn shares a room with Cleo – the larger of the two rooms, in order to fit two single beds pushed into each corner, while Eloise and Oli claim the smaller room.

“Everything alright?” Martyn asks Cleo as she stands, eyes widening slightly, a near-crazed look on their features.

She nods, flattening the ripped and faded shirt she’s wearing with her hands. “Just forgot I had a doctors appointment! I’ll see you three tonight.”

Martyn’s no stranger to his own secrets, so he ignores the way Cleo’s fingers flex slightly as they grab a small bag and take off. The silence hardly has time to settle before Martyn’s phone vibrates silently in his pocket.

He fumbles as he pulls it out, quickly swiping across the multitude of screens that are frankly a mess. Muscle memory guides him to the puzzle game, a password put in so quickly he hardly breathes. Messages ping up before his eyes.

Emergency call sent from Flux

Bird: hurry tf up guys i dont think flux sends these out regularly

Spark: ill be first there, i was near base

Portal: vision and i wont be far behind well go straight from our apartment

Echo: coming now, ill be at base in a few minutes

Martyn hates to leave Eloise and Oli without a proper explanation, but there’s not much choice for him. “One of my colleagues just called in sick, I need to cover their shift. I’ll catch you two later – save the funny business for your room, yeah?”

Eloise rolls her eyes, poking her tongue out at Martyn. “We’re starting a Lord of the Rings marathon. Can’t believe Oli’s never seen it – I’m frankly ashamed.”

Martyn faintly hears Oli’s complaints as he pushes out the front door. As soon as it’s closed, he’s sprinting down the hall, leaping down staircases, figuring the elevator will take far too long.

He doesn’t have the luxury of being able to fly, his wings too small to carry his weight. He keeps them hidden anyway, given the rarity of dragon hybrids, it’s not uncommon for them to be hunted for their powers (which are all but a myth in Martyn’s case, but that won’t stop angry poachers.)

He hasn’t bothered getting a car – the parking is far too tight in Spire. He has the next best thing though.

There’s the slight clink of metal against metal as he unchains his bike from out the front, leaving the lock lying on the footpath. He’s gotten quite good at navigating the streets from atop a partially electric bike. He swaps from the footpath to the road, causing pedestrians and drivers alike to curse him as he flies past.

Martyn’s at the base within a few minutes, leaving the bike lying in a side alley. His muscles are burning as he races through the overly bright halls. He hears a crash followed by loud swearing. Seconds later Joel is stumbling down the hall, pulling a fabric mask over the bottom half of his face while simultaneously trying to focus enough to overlay the green colour of his wings with a shadowy purple.

“You good?” Martyn asks, stifling a small laugh.

Joel glares at him, finally securing the mask properly. “If you couldn’t tell, it's a bit of a blummin’ panic station here. Hurry the fuck up!”

Martyn nods his acknowledgement, grabbing the doorframe to practically throw himself into his makeshift room. It’s fairly simple – a large bed and a desk that’s scattered with files and plans and a whole bunch of USBs he’s yet to decipher. The walls are a lime green with bright overhead lights to account for the lack of windows. Photos of his friends line the desk and nightstand, familiar faces of his team displayed.

Martyn throws open the wardrobe, pulling out one of the clean suits in there. It’s a rather elaborate suit, but Zedaph said he could pick anything. A loose white shirt with a dark leather corset and a crimson flag tied tightly around his waist. It’s an unusual ensemble to fight in, but it means Martyn’s become recognisable across all of Spire.

It doesn’t take much concentration for Martyn to drag his wings out. It itches slightly as the large tattoo on his back comes to life, the ink swirling until two inky black wings are trailing behind Martyn, positioned perfectly through the gap in his shirt.

His head hurts as his horns push out from his skull, but it’s over in a few seconds. It’s a pain he’s incredibly used to by now. There’s a tingle as scales creep across Martyn’s face, the dark void-like hide concealing his features.

The last thing he slips on is the comms, clipping them securely to his ear. There’s a crackle of static before the channel links up and Martyn’s head is flooded with voices that are all too familiar, despite the slight changes to the tone that come with the disguises. Martyn’s own voice gets altered by a loose pale green shell that hangs around his neck.

“...visuals on Flux – it’s as though he’s completely gone,” Pearl says.

“Fuck,” Tango responds. “I saw him briefly when I got there, but we were outnumbered.”

Martyn leaves his phone on the desk, grabbing his signature battle axe off the wall before taking off to the secret exit that leads to the alleyway where his bike is. He doesn’t bother picking it up – the location is only a block away. It’ll be faster to run than to get the bike working.

Martyn’s legs are screaming at him in protest as he scrambles up the side of the building. Gravel bites into his palms as he stumbles up, flying across the flat roof. He doesn’t hesitate as he approaches the edge of the building, lengthening his strides to propel himself over the gap.

His wings extend, catching the wind and tilting him into the air only slightly. He rolls as he hits the new roof, hardly missing a step as he pushes back to his feet.

He hears the clash of swords before he sees the fight. He crouches at the edge of the skyscraper, observing the battle.

Tango is locked in combat with Firefly and Grave Digger, but is using his speed to keep the two on their toes. Martyn turns his attention across the battlefield, trying to see someone that needs help.

Blink is hovering at the edge of the fight, his hands clasped behind his back. Martyn sees his opportunity, leaping from the top of the building. His stomach jumps into his throat as his wings extend out. They may not be able to get him off the ground, but they are able to slow his fall enough.

He lands with a thud, ankle twinging slightly. He pulls out a small dagger, throwing the sheath to the side. Blink doesn't notice him as he approaches from behind and is far too occupied by the battle in front of him to react in time. Martyn grabs him by the back of his shirt, slamming him forcefully against the nearest building.

They’re tucked in an alleyway, completely obscured from the fight. The man under Martyn yelps, squirming to try and free his grip. Martyn grins but doesn’t budge, keeping his weight pressed against him.

“Hey, Jimmy,” he mutters, lips pulling into a toothy smirk. Jimmy’s shaking under him slightly, wings pressed flat against his head in fear. Martyn lifts a hand, forcing a sharp fingernail under Jimmy’s mask. He drags it down only slightly, revealing Jimmy’s pale skin across his cheeks.
He can feel Jimmy’s shaking breath against his hand as he speaks. “What do you want Echo?”

“Where’s R-Flux?” Martyn demands. He catches himself before he reveals Ren’s name, because Jimmy won’t know it. It gives Ren a small amount of safety, if Jimmy were to ever betray them.

Jimmy shakes his head, pulling back slightly. “My deal’s with Bird, not you.”

“Your deal is with us. I will not hesitate to kill you, Flicker,” Martyn hisses, bringing his free hand up. He places the tip of the dagger against Jimmy’s Adam's apple, pressing it in enough to indent the skin but not quite enough to draw blood yet. “I’m a smart man, and I’ve noticed a particular blue-haired man missing from that battle out there. Tell me where Flux and Myriad are and I’ll spare you.”

Jimmy’s eyes flash with conflict, his breath stuttering slightly. “They’re in Head Quarters. You won’t be able to get in there – it’s a finger print scan. I can’t get you in without blowing my cover.”

“Too bad. I’m getting Flux out before they can lay a finger on him.”

“They won’t hurt him. That’s not how the Speakers do things – it’ll be safer to wait for tonight. I can get your team in and out with Flux. The guards will be tired and on low guard and there won’t be people wandering the halls.”

Martyn leans down, voice dropping dangerously low. “If you’re wrong, and he has so much of a scratch on him, you’re going to wish you were never born. I’ll pluck every one of your feathers out and remove your fingers with a dull dagger, understood?”

Jimmy gulps, nodding every so slightly. Martyn snarls at him, throwing him onto the floor. He makes sure to aim a kick at Jimmy’s side as he passes, barely glancing over his shoulder as he directs his words towards the battle. “Meet back here as soon as the sun has set.”

Martyn joins back in the battle easily, pulling the battle axe off of his shoulder blades. He swings the blue tinted blade down with force, barely missing Anvil’s shoulder. The white haired man winces, dropping to the ground to roll out of the way of Martyn’s next attack.

“Any news on Flux?” Gem pants, tightening her grip around one of her karambits.

Martyn nods, avoiding the swing of Anvil’s sword before it can connect to his skull. “I’ll fill you in later.”

The red-head nods once, ducking one of Anvil’s swords. Martyn tends to avoid fighting the fox, due to his blade’s tendency to split into multiple, veering off as though they’ve got a mind of their own. He much prefers when he opts for his mace instead – far easier to avoid just one bludgeon and not up to seven swords. Martyn knows that if Anvil were to lose his focus the metal would stop warping.

That’s what Martyn focuses on doing. He uses the blade of his axe to block the blows of the urumi, bouncing off Gem and eventually Pearl to keep Anvil on his toes. Martyn’s breathing heavily but only has a small scratch across his cheek when Anvil starts retreating.

He scurries away, fleeing into an alleyway with blood trailing from multiple wounds. Martyn doesn’t waste time celebrating the victory, quickly strapping the axe back against his back.

“Back to base… now,” he orders into his comms. Gem and Pearl don’t question him, nodding at each other. Tilly wasn’t at this battle, which makes it far easier for Pearl to get her and Gem back. There’s a crack and the air seems to ripple as the two girls disappear.

Martyn whistles loudly, holding his hand in the air. There’s a rush of air that Martyn recognises easily. Fingers wrap tightly around his wrist, yanking him into the air.

Wind pulls at Martyn’s hair as Grian twists in the air. Martyn feels himself drop but he doesn’t scream. Grian’s under him with a flick of his red wings. It’s a well-practiced dance.

Martyn lands lightly on Grian’s back, pushing his own wings out. They can’t carry his weight, but they certainly make it far easier for Grian to carry the weight of two people, even despite the hollowness of his avian bones.

“What did you find out?” Grian yells over the roar of air, turning his head slightly. The pair of wings around his ears fan out, ruffling in the breeze as Grian winds through the buildings, staying low to the ground.

Martyn shakes his head. “I’ll tell you later. Everyone needs to hear it.”

It’s hardly any time before Grian lands outside the abandoned shopfront. Martyn barges through the door, the scales dropping from his face as soon as the door closes behind him. Grian casts him a disapproving look at revealing himself before they’re even in the actual base.

Tango, Pearl and Gem are already gathered in the meeting room. Grian’s presence draws their attention quickly as his gaze sweeps over the room. “Where’s Joel?”

“Right here mate,” Joel announces, wings flattening as he arrives. “I don’t have the liberty of moving quite as fast as you lot.”

Martyn glares at him and Joel luckily gets the hint, his mouth closing before the next sentence can leave his mouth.

“What happened there, Martyn?” Grian asks, eyes narrowing.

Martyn swallows thickly, trying to bite back the emotion that’s trying to creep into his voice. “Ren got taken by Myriad. Jimmy said he’s going to get me in tonight to break him out. You guys are with me or you’re not, but don’t try to stop me.”

The room is silent and Martyn swears the hammering in his heart is echoing off the walls. Grian shatters the silence with his words. “Fucking reckless, but we’re with you. We don’t leave one of our own behind.”

Martyn exhales, his breath rushing out in a small cloud. “Thank you.”

“I’ll talk to X, see if he’s got some tips for stealth,” Gem says, standing with a grunt. X is usually around the base somewhere, it’s just a matter of tracking him down in the depths of the corridors that wind like a labyrinth under the main rooms. Martyn never really bothers with roaming those halls, most of them used for experiments and research.

Tango pulls his phone out. “Zed might have some stuff that’s useful. I’ll get in contact with him.”

The plan starts falling into place and Martyn feels a sense of ease. Grian insists on him getting the scratch across his face looked at. It stings as he dabs at it aggressively with an alcohol wipe, but Martyn can hardly feel the pain.

There’s a shout down the hall that pulls his attention out of the bathroom. Zedaph has arrived, the flimsiest piece of fabric tied across his nose and covering his mouth. He pulls it off as soon as the door hisses closed behind him, throwing it against the wall.

“I have presents!” he calls, dumping a large duffel bag on the meeting table. Martyn follows the group of people trickling from their rooms, gathering around Zedaph’s bag of contraptions.

“Watch ya got there?” Tango hums, leaning forward to try and peak into the bag.

Zedaph bats him away, pulling the bag closer to him almost protectively. “I’m waiting until X is here,” he scolds, glaring at Tango.

Tango huffs, crossing his arms but reluctantly collapses into a chair, leaning back lazily. “Can someone tell X to hurry the fuck up then?”

“Sure, I’ll message him,” a voice says from the entrance, causing Tango to leap out of his chair. Martyn turns quickly, finding the source of the rather distorted voice. X is leaning against the doorframe, his features covered by a dark coloured gas mask that wraps around his head, a small visor around his eyes with flickering lights in the corner.

Tango flips him off. “Don’t scare me like that, you bitch.”

X rolls his eyes, moving further into the room. Martyn takes this as his opportunity to take one of the seats around the table, on the other side of Zedaph. He doesn’t think his hands have stopped shaking since the fight. He tucks them under his legs, trying to hide the visible weakness.

The rest of the Watchers gather around Zedaph, peering over his shoulder as he dramatically pulls the zipper of the bag back. Martyn’s brow furrows in confusion as Zedaph pulls out a small silver pack. It’s compact, but there are hinges that indicate it expands to something larger.

Grian opens his mouth to ask, but Zedaph silences him with a single raise of the finger. The goat hybrid turns to Martyn, the contraption clutched to his chest. “Martyn, if you would be so kind as to turn around?”

Martyn’s learnt by now not to really question Zedaph’s methods. He  begrudgingly stands from his chair, facing his back towards Zedaph. He’s surprised when he feels a hand pulling his wing out. An involuntary reaction makes him yank his wings out of the gentle grip, tail lashing as he spins to glare at Zedaph.

He hadn’t noticed his hand had reached to grip the axe still strapped between his shoulder blades until Zedaph raises his hands, the mechanism clattering to the floor. “Dude, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Martyn forces his wings to flatten against his back, calming his racing nerves. He mumbles his apology, placing the axe on the table and turning back around. He’s more prepared now for Zedaph’s cold hands to run along his wings.

There’s a slight shudder that trails through his spine as Zedaph clips something around his chest. It pinches his skin against his clothes slightly, but isn’t too uncomfortable.

The more uncomfortable bit is the cold metal that wraps around his wings. It doesn’t pinch, but it’s certainly a new feeling having the metal gripping to the scales, and extra weight added to his back.

“Finished!” Zedaph announces, grabbing Martyn’s shoulders to spin him back around. Martyn doesn’t speak as he sweeps from the room, pushing open the bathroom door. His mouth falls open when he sees a large metallic extension to his wings, the metal pointing above his head and almost sweeping the ground. Small veins run along the structure of his scaled appendages, glittering in the light and holding the sweeping extensions in place.

Martyn turns to Zedaph, blinking slowly. Zedaph is grinning smugly at him, six pairs of eyes staring curiously over his shoulder.

“What the fuck?” Martyn whispers, ruffling his wings. There’s the slight echo of metal clanging against metal, the quiet sweeping of the scales barely audible.

Zedaph doesn’t provide any more explanation, eyes twinkling. “Down to the training rooms!”

Martyn follows dumbly, still trying to process the new weight hanging off his back. He has to tuck the wings closer to his back to fit through doorways that hadn’t previously been an issue. He can feel Grian’s presence close to his side, examining the wings without actually touching them.

Their training room is down another level, a large area that’s hollowed out from under the city. There are a few grates that lead to different sewers, abandoned construction tunnels and old train routes that haven’t been used since the creation of the monorail.

Zedaph flourishes his hand, leaning against a piece of strengthening equipment that Martyn’s never really used before. There are climbing vines lacing across the ceiling and small juts of rock leading up each wall for climbing. The space isn’t as large as the open air, but it’s spacious enough for Grian, Pearl and Joel to fly comfortably at the same time.

“Try flying,” Zedaph urges, nodding to Martyn.

The blonde uncertainly extends his wings, muscles aching with the weight. “Are you sure about this?”

Zedaph nods, but there is a slight deranged look in his eyes that doesn’t comfort Martyn particularly. Grian steps forward to offer some peace of mind. “I’ll catch you if you start to fall.”

Martyn nods, flinging himself into the air. He’s used to pushing off the ground like this, using his limited flight to dart a few centimeters off the ground and give him the advantage in a fight. He winces as he settles into a slower wing-beat pattern, finding himself held off the ground by about two feet.

The metal is moulded perfectly around his figure, not pinching the scales or causing any inconvenience. Zedaph yells in excitement, pumping his fist into the air at the success of his invention. Martyn wobbles dangerously in the air, yelping as he falls sideways.

He feels a brush of feathers against his side, tilting him into a more steady position. Grian’s gliding around him, parrot wings stretched wide.

“Keep your gravity centered,” he instructs. Martyn assumes it’ll be slightly different for the two, given his wings are towards his lower back while Grian’s are located at his shoulder blades. It’s the same principle though, so Martyn tilts himself forward, taking a few seconds to find his balance.

It feels strange, shooting forward on his own, Grian’s wings brushing against his back to help steady him.

Martyn’s muscles hurt after about half an hour of flying, but by the time he lands, he feels confident in his abilities. Everyone else has dispersed at some point, back to their rooms to prepare for the upcoming invasion. 

“X is with Gem and Tango planning what’s next,” Zedaph says. “Pearl and Joel are finding any useful supplies.”

Martyn nods, shifting uncomfortably a few times. “Thank you, Zed. Didn’t think I’d ever fly on my own.”

Zedaph shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got some other things at home that I’ll bring in later, this is just what I have finished right now.”

Grian nods stiffly, muttering something about needing to go and find the others. The sun’s about to set, and they need to get dressed and ready to get Ren back.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Ren ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Everything hurts. Ren can’t tell what from, but he’s fairly certain there’s at least one broken rib and his tail fur has definitely seen better days. His energy is absolutely gone, every ounce of it put towards keeping the haze that accompanies his sunglasses over his face.

No matter what had happened, he’d made sure not to let the disguise slip, his identity completely hidden. He slightly regrets those decisions now when he has hardly any energy left to keep his head from lolling against his shoulders.

He doesn’t entirely remember what happened, but he knows that there was a figure with a hood pulled low over his head and a glowing red haze floating around them. Ren felt the bones in his ribs cave inwards and his shoulder wrench out of his shoulder and then darkness swam through his vision as unconsciousness took him.

He’s been in and out since then, only waking for long enough to feel the uncomfortable coating of dried blood across his skin and the sharp pain in all his limbs before passing out again.

Time passes strangely for Ren, and the next time he wakes with a start he can’t tell whether it’s been only a few hours or a few days he’s been gone. The whole building shakes and dust falls onto his hair.

Ren blinks, taking the time to finally look around his surroundings. The walls around him are a sterile white, smooth concrete with no detailing. There’s a pallet pushed into the corner with the sorry excuse for a mattress spread across the top.

Ren hasn’t even had the ability to pull himself onto the bed yet, but he thinks moving isn’t the best option right now. The cell is completely bleak otherwise, the only wall that differs slightly the one that has the entrance and exit.

A blue forcefield flickers as the building shakes again, loud explosions sounding overhead. The blue light flickers out completely for a few seconds and Ren knows that this is his only opportunity.

He grits his teeth, bracing his uninjured arm against the side of the wall. A guttural yell rips from his throat as he pushes to his feet. His chest burns and any movement sends a bolt of pain through his shoulder. Something in his leg twinges with every step, which is very much not normal.

He ignores the incredible pain wracking his body, stumbling towards the door. His body collapses, slamming against the shield. It flickers under his weight but doesn’t budge. Ren yells, slamming a fist against it. Blood smears off his hand, smudging against the blue light.

A sob escapes from Ren’s throat as he slides to the floor, feeling his glasses get knocked askew. He pushes them back onto his face, blood that had gathered in the corners of his mouth gathering at his fingertips.

He’d hardly tasted the metallic iron taste before, but it overpowers his senses now. Tears streak down his face, mingling with the crimson rivers that are already staining his cheeks.

Footsteps echo down the hallway outside and Ren quickly pulls himself together. There’s multiple sets of footsteps approaching rapidly, voices shouting. Ren can hardly make out the words, but he manages to catch a few. “Watchers… split up… fuck.”

Ren pushes himself against the wall, tucking his head down. Pain rips through his body and he’s forced to bite the inside of his cheeks to contain the scream. He feels more blood coating his tongue, but it’s indistinguishable from what was already there.

A blur races past the door. Ren narrows his eyes, managing to make out the recognisable outfit of Hawk, teal and orange mixing with the dark leather. Grave Digger is close behind him, their black hair streaking out, large phantom wings trailing behind her as she moves down the corridors like second nature. A flash of white hair is all Ren catches from behind Grave Digger, but he knows that it’s Anvil.

There’s another shout before the final person of the group slows down. “I’ll catch up!” he yells, coming to a complete halt just outside of Ren’s eyeline.

Ren doesn’t know the voice, but he can tell who it is that steps into view from the word of his teammates. Small wings covered in silky black feathers and a gas mask clipped under a covering of those same feathers. Ren sneers at Jimmy, managing to push himself backwards across the cell slightly.

“Fuck,” Jimmy mutters, placing a gentle finger on the blue field, right where Ren’s blood is smeared. The light pulses under his touch, responding to his very presence.

Ren glares at him, trying to pull his dislocated shoulder in against his chest to hide the injury. “What do you want?”

Jimmy runs a hand lightly down his face, careful not to bump his mask loose. “They weren’t meant to fucking hurt you – that’s… that’s not what was meant to happen.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ren snarls, forcing himself upright. He feels the contents of his stomach lurch into his throat, but he swallows it down. He hopes he looks threatening enough, but he knows that even Jimmy would be able to take him in a fight right now.

The canary looks like he’s about to cry, eyes glistening slightly as he fiddles with something at the edge of the forcefield. It flashes red but nothing else happens. Jimmy curses, searching around. The building shakes even more, a piece of brick crumbling from the roof.

Jimmy’s eyes light up as he grabs the debris, bringing his arm up and swinging it back down. The blue field shatters, dissipating into the air.

Ren’s rendered speechless, eyes examining Jimmy who drops the brick, staring at his shaking hand. He down up at Ren, mask hissing as a word escapes from his lips, inaudible to Ren. He doesn’t say anything else before a yell echoes off the halls.

“Coming!” he yells, voice muffled and distorted. He turns back to Ren, only hesitating for a few seconds. “Your team’s on the upper floors. Everyone should be distracted by the explosions.”

Ren doesn’t know why Jimmy’s helping him, because he knows in theory the man is a spy on the inside according to Grian, but he never trusted him. He never thought the offer would be extended to him.

“Thank you,” he mutters, averting his gaze from Jimmy’s.

Jimmy’s back is turned, the short man already hurrying down the corridor. He looks over his shoulder before he’s completely out of view. “It wasn’t– I thought the Speakers were different. I’m sorry.”

Ren can’t respond, because he’s focussing all his energy onto stumbling forward, feet dragging. Debris litters the floor, dust and small chunks of concrete. Ren’s not really paying attention to his surroundings in all honesty, gaze narrowing onto the floor in front of him.

There’s a loud shout of distress behind him. Ren turns, Myriad running towards him with his sword raised. Ren looks around in a panic, ducking into the nearest room.

Weapons line the wall, glinting in what little light is provided. Ren’s gaze lands on a double headed axe that’s achingly familiar, the slightest splash of blood still staining the handle from years ago. Ren grabs the weapon, winding the red, leather ribbons that hang off the wooden handle around his wrists. The blue blade glimmers, the weight comfortable in Ren’s arms.

His shoulder is screaming at him as he levels his weight out, ignoring the fire shooting up his leg and curling around his spine with angry claws.

Myriad bursts into the room, sword raised. Ren matches the blow, biting his tongue until more blood wells in his mouth to contain the gurgled scream.

He’s got no way to call for help and no way to win this fight. There are more footsteps thundering down the hall, probably Myriad’s backup. Not that the cyan haired man needs backup, his opponent weakening rapidly.

However, the way Myriad glances nervously towards the door makes Ren second-guess himself. He opens his mouth, a sharp scream slipping from between his teeth. “In here!” He knows he could be drawing more Speakers in, but they were bound to find them anyway.

The door swings open, almost flying off the hinges. Ren almost deflates as he blocks another blow, his shoulder wrenching further out of the socket. Joel and Gem stand in the doorway, the redhead holding two karambits threateningly while Joel holds his unique cicada wing sword steady at his chest.

Ren loses his footing, stumbling to the side. Myriad doesn’t chase him, instead raising his sword to try and fend off Gem and Joel simultaneously.

Gem ducks out of the fight for only a second, holding a finger to her ear. “Echo, sending location. We’ve got him.”

She’s back in the fight instantly, ducking under Joel’s blade to swipe out with her smaller weapons. She draws a thin line of blood along Myriad’s upper leg. Joel drops back, calling to Ren over his shoulder, his eyes not leaving the battle. “Get out into the hallway. Echo will find you.”

Ren nods shakily, dropping his left hand from the axe to protect his aching shoulder. The weapon becomes a crutch, holding half the man’s weight as he hobbles out of the weapons room. As soon as he’s gone Gem starts unleashing visions, mirror images to confuse Myriad.

There’s only a second that Ren can see the fight before Joel directs a burst of wind towards the door, locking the three of them in there. The building shakes again, so forcefully it knocks Ren to the ground. He feels the back of his head hit the concrete as he crumples against the floor. He manages to twist and not land on the blades of his own axe.

Stars dance in his vision but Ren fights back the wave of nausea. He knows he needs to get out of here. Collapsing on the floor isn’t an option right now. 

But one more minute of rest won’t hurt. Ren’s fighting against his own muscles to keep his eyes open when the loudest explosion sounds.

The ceiling practically caves in and Ren knows that this is where it’s over for him. There’s no way he’ll be able to hold off any more attackers. He finally lets his eyes drift shut, hiding the tears that are finally welling.

Arms wrap around him and he knows the next time he wakes up it’ll be in a cell.

“Fuck,” someone swears, voice distant. It sounds like they’re trying to speak to him under water. Some part of him vaguely recognises the soft tone, a rough and calloused hand supporting his head.

“Flux, c’mon. Come back to me, I’m not losing you,” the same voice urges. The hurried desperation pulls Ren out of his haze. He blinks a few times, black scales accompanied by blond hairs and horns fill his vision.

He coughs, and Martyn is quick to put him into a different position. “I’m here,” he chokes, voice catching in his throat.

Martyn’s arms tighten around him, the shorter man protecting Ren with his whole body. “I’m getting you out of here,” he promises, shifting Ren into a better position.

An arm wraps around his torso, the other snaking under his legs. Ren’s surprised with the ease that Martyn lifts him with. Everything hurts as Ren twists so his arms can wrap behind Martyn’s neck. His shoulder hates him for it, but Ren knows that it’s either this or walking out, which isn’t really an option.

“Someone’s coming,” Martyn hisses. Ren can’t hear anyone, but he knows to trust Martyn’s hearing by now. His breath catches as Martyn’s wings unfold, adorned with a magnificent extension of twisting silver mechanics.

He yelps as they lift into the air, Martyn’s wings beating slowly, pulling them out of a crater in the ceiling that Ren assumes he made to get to him faster.

Martyn’s rapid heartbeat echoes through his ears as he tucks his head down to avoid the lashing of wind that attacks him.

Martyn can't fly particularly fast with Ren’s added weight. It means an arrow hits him from the side as soon as they’re in open air. He yells ,veering off to the side. Ren can see the shaft of the weapon protruding from his teammate’s shoulder.

They’re falling, tumbling through the air in an uncoordinated dance. Martyn twists at the last second, breaking both their falls with his own body.

Ren groans as he rolls across the gravel of a rooftop, the harsh substance pricking him and sticking to the blood caked on his skin.

There’s a thud as someone else lands on the rooftop, a gust of wind indicating an avian.

Martyn’s in front of Ren in an instant, his own battle axe clutched in a defensive position. The arrow is still lodged in his shoulder, blood pouring in thick trails.

Ren pushes himself into a crouch, pulling his own axe out from where he’d shoved it in the straps on his back. It shakes, hardly threatening, but Ren bets he could at least take a Speaker down with him.

“I’ve got these two!” a voice yells. Ren sees Grave Digger nod and dive away, never having landed. Jimmy’s left alone on the rooftop.

Martyn lunges and is crashing into Jimmy with hardly a second thought. The Watcher pulls back, quickly returning to his defensive position in front of Ren. Jimmy’s top is ripped, crimson dribbling to the ground.

Martyn hisses, grip tightening on his axe. “You fucking liar. You said he’d be unharmed, and do you remember the promise I made if you were wrong?”

Jimmy holds his hands up, small sword clattering from his hands. He looked around nervously, probably searching for teammates that would be watching him. “I didn’t know, Echo, I swear. I– please believe me.”

“Over my fucking dead body, Flicker,” Martyn spits. Jimmy recoils at his old name, figure trembling.

Martyn yells, and Ren’s moving before he can think. He grabs Martyn’s wrist, yanking him back. Jimmy stares at the two of them, eyes wide as Ren falls back onto the floor. Ren quickly pulls himself up, falling forward and catching himself by digging the blades of his axe into the gravel.

He positions himself between Martyn and Jimmy, glancing over his shoulder at the canary. “He got me out of the cell,” he whispers to Martyn. “He didn’t know what was happening.”

“It’s all an elaborate ruse,” Martyn claims, pushing past Ren to swing at Jimmy again. The avian yelps, ducking from the axe. He very obviously doesn’t fight back, merely dodging all the attacks Martyn throws at him.

Ren hears heavy wing beats from above and lifts his gaze to see large black feathers descending from the sky. Grian lands on the roof easily, using the tip of his wing to knock Martyn’s axe out of his grip.

Martyn sends a look of betrayal at Grian, but gets the idea to back off. “He’s more useful alive, you fuckwit,” Grian hisses, spreading his wings out.

Jimmy backs away, quickly scooping up his sword. Grian glares at him, baring his teeth. “This doesn’t mean we trust you. Go. Now. We’ll see each other soon.”

Jimmy nods, scurrying off the side of the building and spreading his wings to lower himself to the ground. 

“What the fuck?” Martyn yells, rounding on Grian. “I could’ve killed him – I would’ve. He wasn’t even trying.”

“Not right now, Echo,” Grian grunts, moving to Ren’s side. He crouches down, placing a gentle hand on Ren’s shoulder.

Martyn’s voice is cold when he speaks. “Don’t touch him.”

Grian looks at Martyn. “You can’t carry him all the way back, Echo. You’re not used to the wings yet and–”

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch him.”

Grian and Martyn are both incredibly stubborn people, and their standoff could last all night. Grian thankfully backs down, standing off to the side while Martyn scoops Ren back against his chest. 

Grian picks up the two axes that are lying on the rooftop, strapping them by the handles to his belt. He takes off into the air easily. Martyn’s a bit more unstable, dipping to catch himself as he gets used to the weight of both himself and Ren and the lack of strength in his arm that’s still adorned by an arrow.

Ren assumes the adrenaline is starting to wear off, making it infinitely more difficult for Martyn to navigate through the air. Ren can hear the crackle of the comms as Grian calls for a retreat.

“Are you sure you don’t need some help?” Grian offers when Martyn has to correct himself for the fifth time.

Martyn speeds up, dipping closer to the rooftops as he sends biting words over his shoulder at the parrot. “Fuck off.”

Unconsciousness tugs at Ren’s mind, and he finally lets it take over. The pain numbs finally, a distance throb in a void of darkness.

Chapter Text

Way up way up we go

Been up and down that road

Way up way up, oh no

We gon’ burn the whole house down

Watch me stand in the line

You’re only serving lies

You’ve got something to hide

We gon’ burn the whole house down

- Burn the House Down by AJR

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Jimmy ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Jimmy feels like his chest is collapsing on itself. He knows he has to do something, and that’s the only thought consuming his mind right now, clouding his judgement and all other ideas that are trying to force their way in.

The voices around him are distorted and distant as Jimmy decides what he needs to do. It won’t end well for him, and he knows it, but he can’t keep up the lies that are rolling from his mouth so easily.

He catches Glitch’s eye, miming writing in the air. Glitch tilts his head, eyes narrowing but he pulls a pen out of his pocket, flipping to an empty page in his notebook. The conversation continues normally around Jimmy as he writes out his message in pointed and shaky handwriting.

Keep conversation normal. THEY’RE LISTENING.

Jimmy takes a deep breath, handing the notebook to Hawk. The man takes one look at it, squinting as he deciphers the handwriting. His eyes widen in shock as he looks at Jimmy who reveals the metal band encompassing his wrist.

Hawk passes the notebook around, continuing the conversation with ease. “Doc, you were saying about being able to replicate the wings that we saw on Echo? How easy do you think that would be?”

He takes the notebook back, writing his own message in it to pass back to Jimmy; explain.

“I need to know how they were attached to his wings though – it would take incredible engineering to stop it from pinching pre-existing wings,” Doc responds, eyes trained on Jimmy as he writes.

“I saw them up close,” Jimmy mumbles, most of his attention focussed on the paper in front of him as he writes out everything that happened from the day Grian arrived in his apartment. He knows his timer is up. “But we wouldn’t have to worry about that, right? We’d be creating wings, not adding extensions.”

“He’s got a point,” Glitch hums, nodding as he peers over his shoulder. Jimmy finishes writing, handing the page back to Hawk. Everyone scrambles up, gathering around to read.

Grave Digger pulls away, curling their lips at Jimmy as they continue the conversation. “I’d be happy to give you a hand with it all Doc,” she says. “If you needed to see wing mechanics or anything. I think mine are most similar to Echo’s but Blink’s got the same as Bird. Portal and Bug are completely different though.”

The notebook is shoved back into Jimmy’s hands by Firefly; Can we remove?

Jimmy shakes his head frantically, snatching the pen into his hands. Will alert Bird. They’ll find me.

Myriad grabs the notebook, forcefully pulling it from Jimmy’s hands as Grave Digger and Doc continue the conversation to keep appearances. It does sound like they’re actually planning something, but Jimmy doesn’t care. He knows these plans will be scrapped in a few days now the Watchers know about them.

How can you fucking trust you now?

Jimmy gulps, trying to blink back tears as he writes his response.

Please. You weren’t there when Bird threatened me. He wasn’t lying. They know where I live, they know EVERYTHING about me. I never gave them anything useful.

Anvil sighs, rubbing angrily at his eyes. He turns, chiming into the conversation Grave Digger and Doc are still having, struggling to flesh everything out. “Forgot to tell you, Doc. One of those Fringe people – the shadowy one managed to steal my comms today. Swooped in, took it and then left. Pretty sure she had help from Redshift as well, it seemed to lift out of my ear.”

“Did she try to fight?” Glitch queries, tilting his head.

Anvil responds with a firm shake of his own head. “Didn’t even draw her trident out. Not sure why she wanted it.”

Jimmy tunes the conversation out when Hawk pushes the pad back under his nose.

We won’t kill you for now. But we can’t trust you either. It was hard trusting you before this for fucks sake. You’ll be staying at HQ for a few days at least, until we can work out a way to remove that bugging device without drawing suspicion. Doc and Glitch will work on this.

You are to tell us if there’s another meeting with Bird or any of the Watchers, understood?

Jimmy nods, taking the pen in his trembling fingers, because there’s one last thing he needs to address. He exhales shakily, placing the tip of the pen against the paper; Did you know about Flux?

Hawk looks at him strangely; the fact we caught him? Yeah of course. Myriad gave him off to some of the higher ups to take to the cells.

Jimmy breathes a small sigh of relief, because there’s still a chance that Hawk didn’t know that Flux was being tortured; did you give the order for him to be beaten for information?

Hawk is able to muffle his gasp as he reads Jimmy’s message. He clutches the paper in knuckle white fingers. He flips the paper over before anyone else can read it, shooing the curious people behind him away and towards the planning that Doc and Glitch are still at.

There are a few quizzical looks but everyone listens. Hawk scribbles furiously on the paper, moving closer to Jimmy.

That’s not what the Speakers do. You must’ve misseen something.

Jimmy wishes he were wrong. He shakes his head sadly; dislocated shoulder, probably broken rib, so much blood. That’s just what was visible, HG. It was… it was worse than what the Watchers would do.

Hawk gasps slightly, getting up to pace around the room. Jimmy’s phone buzzes, which is strange because anyone that would message him is sitting in this room. He pulls it out, flicking onto a message from an unknown number. There’s only one other message in the chain, the new one even more ominous.

Unknown Number: You have three days to find out the identities of your so called ‘teammates’ Jimmy. Echo warned me what he was going to do and if you fail to comply with this new order… you’re going to be begging for him to take over. I’ll see you soon. – 🪶

Jimmy hands the phone to Hawk, studying his features as his eyes scan the message. His shoulder’s tense and his breath catches in his throat. Jimmy writes furiously on the paper, shuddering as he remembers Martyn’s words.], copying them onto the page.

Hawk raises his hand to call the attention of the team. “That’s all for tonight,” he sighs. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

Jimmy receives many hostile glances as he curls his knees into his chest. Eventually, it’s just Hawk and Jimmy left in the room. The notepad is handed back to Jimmy.

Don’t respond to the message. We’re going to come up with something Jimmy. We’re not going to let them find you.

Jimmy feels relief wash over him, tears forming in his eyes. Hawk leaves to give Jimmy some privacy as quiet sobs escape his mouth.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Mumbo ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“We have a breakthrough on the comms!” Mumbo announces. He’s been working tirelessly for close to a week, decoding the tech he found in Anvil’s comm. He’s managed to get past the firewalls, met with lines of coding running across his screen in incompressible patterns.

It had taken a few days to make sense of those numbers, but Mumbo is finally in the detection system of the Speakers. He grins as he shows his work to the rest of the Fringe.

Lizzie nods, brows furrowing as she tries to decipher the program Mumbo’s got open. “Any way to link it to our comms so we get the notifications?”

Mumbo nods, holding out his hand. Impulse passes over his comm, watching as Mumbo plugs it into his computer. He spends some time adding some new programming and dragging over some of the coding from the Speaker’s program. It doesn’t really take that long. Soon Mumbo’s got all the comms of his team fixed up and back to their owners.

“Think we’re done for the day,” Lizzie announces, leaning back on the couch. She’s the only one who lives here, claiming it allows her the ability to hide from the Watchers. Mumbo lives alone not far from the base, a small apartment he could upgrade from but he’s never been bothered. 

Mumbo groans, pulling his phone out and nudging his shoulder into Impulse’s. “Want to see if the other two are free?”

“I could go for a drink,” Impulse agrees, pulling his phone out. He types away and the swoop of a message comes seconds later. Mumbo’s own phone buzzes as he pulls it out.

Impulse: tangs, ren, you two free to come with Mumbo and I for a drink tonight?

Tango: uhh can’t sorry Ren and I are caught up with work today

Mumbo: all good, that just leaves it to you and I then Imp!

Mumbo doesn’t second guess the response Tango gave, pushing his phone back into his pocket. Impulse mimics his movements, slinging his backpack across his shoulders. There’s a pub a few blocks away that Mumbo and his friends are regulars at.

He feels warmth blooming from the bottom of his chest by the time the moon has reached the peak in the sky. Impulse is stumbling, words slurring slightly as Mumbo practically carries him home.

His own cheeks are rosy, but he’s far more sober than his companion. Impulse’s place is on his way, and only a few blocks walk. Mumbo’s muscles ache by the time he kicks at the base of Impulse’s door, hoping someone is awake to answer.

Tango answers the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes that Mumbo swears he sees flash red for only a second. He shakes his head, because that’s as impossible as the flames he’d thought he’d seen a few days back. It’s nothing more than a trick of the light.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, voice gravely with sleep. Mumbo nods his head towards Impulse, who’s hanging off his arm with one hand raised in the air.

“I provide with you an incredibly drunk Impulse. He’s your problem now,” Mumbo grunts, ducking out from under Impulse’s arm. His roommate dashes forward, catching the shorter man before he topples forward.

“Tangs!” Impulse slurs, pinching the blonde’s cheek between his fingers.

“Stop that,” he hisses, pulling his face away.

Impulse pouts, lips turning downwards. “But Tango!”

Tango rolls his eyes, shuffling further into the apartment. “Thank you!” he calls to Mumbo, offering a small nod of gratitude before closing the door, muttering at Impulse under his breath as he drags him further into the apartment.

Mumbo starts the walk back to his apartment, rather enjoying the night air and the stars that are dulled by thick city smog. There’s the distant wail of sirens but other than that the city’s practically silent. 

Mumbo finds himself taking the long route home, his legs taking him through snaking back alleys. A grin stretches across his face as he moves the shadows, comfortable and welcoming.

Of course, it doesn’t stay that way for long. There’s a whistle of wind and the stars are blotted out by dark black feathers. Mumbo bites his lip to contain the sound that tries to escape him as he throws himself into the darkest section of the alley he’s in.

He hopes Bird will pass over, not seeing him. Unfortunately, Mumbo has the worst luck. Bird lands in the alley with a grunt, a small plume of dust rising into the air.

Mumbo swears as quietly as possible, scrambling under his chin. He yanks the turtleneck of his sweater up, feeling far better about himself as the mask covers the right half of his face, eyes blinking to adjust to the fabric around them.

He can picture where his crossbow’s been left behind, lying useless on the base’s counter. He does have a spear with a sturdy pole, collapsed down to be the length of his forearm. He unhooks it from his belt, knuckles going white around the black leather. The point of the spear protrudes like a small dagger, the rest of the shaft collapsed.

Mumbo doesn’t think that Bird saw him before, but he can never be certain. He pulls the comms out of his pocket, slipping the cool metal into his ear and gently tapping one of the sensors. There’s a small tone followed by an automated voice.

“Surge requesting backup.”

Mumbo hopes that’ll be enough to at least alert Lizzie and maybe False to his location. He knows Impulse won’t be useful given his state and Skizz was out all night with his friends for a party. Bird leans against a wall, wings shifting until they’re splayed behind him.

Mumbo squints, but his face is, as always, covered with a dull purple haze. Mumbo doesn’t dare move, doesn’t even risk lengthening his spear out to full length. He’s scared his pounding heart will give him away.

There’s a shift in the air, so subtle that Mumbo doesn’t notice it until it shimmers. A man appears out of nowhere and Mumbo bites so hard on the inside of his cheek to stop the gasp that he feels blood well in his mouth.

He doesn’t recognise the man with yellow feathers dragging from his back and two wings behind each ear. His hair is a dirty blonde and freckles are obvious even in the dim light. Mumbo may not know his name or his face, but he does recognise that power, the ability to turn invisible on a whim.

“Jimmy,” Bird sighs, rolling his shoulders as he pushes off the wall. “Do you have the information I requested?”

The man, who Mumbo assumes must be Jimmy, shakes his head slowly. It’s obvious even from this far that he’s trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. “I couldn’t. I have my limits.”

“You have quite the nerve showing your face here then,” Bird hisses, slinking forward. His wings are flaring, making him far more intimidating than usual.

“I still bought information,” Jimmy defends, holding his hand up. He takes a step back, Bird following him across the dusty alley. “They’re crafting wings, for those without.”

His back hits the jutted wall of the alley, a small yelp escaping his mouth. Mumbo leans forward ever so slightly, wincing as gravel crunches under his feet. Thankfully the avians don’t hear him.

“I already knew that, thanks to that handy device on your wrist,” Bird growls, leaning in slightly. “What was it Echo said to you? Perhaps I should call him in.”

Jimmy pales as Bird pulls a small dagger free with the soft screech of metal on metal. The blade looks dull and dirty as it’s placed against Jimmy’s neck, hardly putting any pressure on it. Jimmy’s arms are trapped against his side by a purple glow that Mumbo’s never seen before.

“Was it wings first?” Bird muses, moving the dagger to rest against the smaller of the wings behind Jimmy’s left ear. Mumbo knows that he needs to do something, and backup doesn’t seem to be coming any time soon.

He doesn’t know much about avians, but from what he’s gathered from False their wings are one of the most precious things to them. And a Watcher is threatening what he assumes is a Speaker, or even just an incredibly powerful civilian.

Mumbo knows what he has to do. He springs from his hiding place, a whoosh coming from his spear as the point extends out, the weapon now a sturdy staff only slightly shorter than Mumbo. 

Bird turns, wings flaring wider as the dagger drops from Jimmy’s ear. Mumbo spins his spear, using the blunt end of the handle to wedge it between Bird’s shoulder blades. The disguised man hisses, stumbling away from Jimmy who falls to the floor with gasping breaths.

Mumbo ducks as Bird tries to strike out against him with the dagger. He has the advantage, his weapon allowing him to stay out of reach of the blunt dagger. Bird lunges forward, flitting over the top of Mumbo’s head with a snarl, landing behind him. Mumbo manages to get a hit in with the handle of the spear, leaving what will form a nasty bruise along Bird’s collarbone.

The avian is stunned and Mumbo follows it up with a kick in the stomach that sends the other hunched over. Mumbo uses the opportunity to glance over his shoulder, nodding his head at Jimmy.

“Go,” he wheezes, ducking once Bird’s recovered. Mumbo adjusts the grip on his spear, using only his right arm to fend off the feeble dagger attacks. Bird must not have any other weapons on him, which is definitely an oversight on his part.

Mumbo reaches into his pocket, fingers wrapping around a small, smooth crystal. The cold surface bites his skin as he pulls it out, careful to keep it contained.

He ducks a punch from Bird, not quite fast enough to duck the tip of his wings. Tears jump into his eyes as his cheek that doesn’t have a mask stretched across it is flicked so forcefully blood wells onto the surface. 

Mumbo drops to the ground, rolling under Bird’s other wings so there’s nothing blocking him from the exit of the alleyway. As he goes, he throws the crystal to the ground. He sees the slightest flash of purple and pink before it hits the ground. Mumbo raises his hand to shield his face from the cloud of smoke and debris that scatter everywhere.

Mumbo blinks, reaching blindly to grab Jimmy’s wrist. He feels his fingers wrap around skin and he’s tugging the canary to his feet, stumbling out of the alley. Jimmy recovers quickly, thankfully, falling into step besides Mumbo as they race away from the alley.

“Who the fuck are you?” he pants, skidding as Mumbo nudges him around a sharp corner.

Mumbo glances across to him. “Surge. With the Fringe. Can you hide your wings by any chance?”

The bright yellow plumage isn’t exactly the most subtle thing when trying to escape a Watcher. Jimmy nods, gritting his teeth as he forces his eyes open.

Mumbo can see the feathers retreating out of the corner of his eyes. He chances a glance and sees the hint of a tattoo through the gap of Jimmy’s shirt. He presses the wings on his head against his head, shaking curls over most of the colour.

Mumbo nods once, grabbing Jimmy’s wrist to drag him out of the alleyway and into the main street. There’s hardly any people around, but it’s far easier to run without having to glance down every few strides to check for debris.

A crackle startles Mumbo but he doesn’t falter in his pace. “Surge,” False’s voice echoes over the comms, distorted. “Nyx and I are tracking you. We’ll be at your location in a few minutes.”

Mumbo takes a breath, steadying himself while still moving as quickly as possible. “We’re on the move now. Going to try and give Bird the shake before circling back.”

There’s a small noise of confirmation from the other end of the comms before the line goes dead. Mumbo glances over his shoulder, stomach lurching when he sees Bird descending on them with his wings tucked. Mumbo blindly grasps around his pocket, glad to feel another crystal. He thought he’d used his last one earlier. The crystal thrums, crackling with energy. The purple and pink colour is contrasted by flashes of white electricity that run up Mumbo’s arm with a comfortable tingle.

He holds the projectile tightly between his fingers, careful not to crush the glass that’s containing the deadly electricity.

“Be ready to duck,” he huffs, waiting for the perfect moment to release. He hears flapping behind him, wind ruffling his hair and pulling it out of the neatly combed style.

His earpiece pops slightly as him and Jimmy round another corner, almost toppling over each other. “We’re behind you, Surge. Throw the crystal now.”

Mumbo glances over his shoulder, throwing the crystal with such force that his shoulder hurts. Heat runs up Mumbo’s spine as he lurches sideways, knocking Jimmy clean off his feet and into the smallest crack in the buildings, a dead-end alleyway.

There’s a screech from the street as debris rains down. Mumbo grabs Jimmy, pulling him behind a dumpster and clamping his hand over the blonde’s mouth to muffle the yell. Mumbo can feel a shard of glass wedged in his shoulder blades, but there’s not too much damage otherwise.

Mumbo risks a glance out of the alleyway, spotting Bird and False locked in combat in the air. They’re far more evenly matched, both able to use the air to their advantage, a clash of brown and glossy black feathers in the sky.

“We’re trapped in here,” Jimmy whispers when Mumbo returns to their hiding spot. “How do we get out?”

“We’re not trapped,” Mumbo hums, pointing to a rusted fire escape at the end of the alleyway. It looks like it’s going to crumble at a moment’s notice, but it should hold their weight. Mumbo tests the bottom rung, wincing as the structure groans. It’s probably been decades since it actually needed to be used.

He can still hear False and Bird fighting each other, but he knows that won’t be kept up for long. He’ll be able to get a few seconds of warning from False before Bird gets the better of her.

“Nyx, where are you?” he asks, holding a finger to his comms. Jimmy climbs ahead of him, feet scrambling against the loose rungs of the ladder under him.

“Almost there. Aquila, get ready to flee. I’ll take Bird for a while.”

There’s no response from False, but she’s heard Lizzie’s comment. “Be ready to fly,” Mumbo calls to Jimmy, swinging up to another level of the fire escape. He feels sweat gathering on his brow, hair falling into his eyes rather uncomfortably.

He can see the top of the building within his grasp. Jimmy’s already scrambled over the top, sending a shower of gravel and dust over the edge. A hand drops down next to Mumbo that he grabs gratefully, pulling himself up next to Jimmy.

They pause for only a second as Jimmy closes his eyes, letting his wings unfurl from the tattoo on his back. He shakes his head, the wings on his head popping back out. Black curls through his wings, covering the yellow completely as the larger of the two wings on his head flatten against his face.

Mumbo thinks Jimmy is far more recogniseable now, the only part missing from Blink’s disguise is the gas mask.

“Aquila, go!” Lizzie’s voice screams. The comms don’t cut off in time and Mumbo hears a grunt as steel meets steel. It’s only a few seconds before brown feathers are hurting towards Mumbo, False’s mouth set in a grim line. Her eyes are covered by dark welding goggles, but Mumbo can recognise her from her flight pattern alone.

“Stay close,” he warns Jimmy, holding his hand high in the air. False’s fingers wrap around his wrist, launching him into the air. He doesn’t scream as the ground disappears beneath him. It doesn't make the looming distance beneath him any less terrifying.

His shoulder hurts as False flies through the alleys, fingers white around Mumbo’s wrist as she pulls him along. If Mumbo cranes his head, he can see Jimmy following close behind, lagging around the sharp corners or dives but catching up easily enough.

They’re almost back at the base. Mumbo gulps, because are they really bringing a Speaker back to their best kept secret? It’s not like they have any other choice though, because it seems to be that or let the Watchers torture and eventually kill Jimmy.

False drops Mumbo at the door with a start, looping high into the air before landing herself. Mumbo slams his palm against the scanner, watching the green light wash over his hand before the door hisses open. He pushes Jimmy ahead of him, slouching against the wall once the door’s closed behind them.

False reaches up, hands on the edge of her goggles. Mumbo reaches out, quickly pulling her wrist down. They communicate with a single glance, Mumbo shaking his head before subtly nodding at Jimmy who’s backed into a corner, yellow feathers quickly reappearing as the black seeps out of his features.

False’s lips curls downwards and her shoulders lift slightly, a clear questions of ‘why the fuck did you bring Blink back here?’

Mumbo shakes his head again, pointing towards the hallway that leads to False’s room. She groans, storming off down the corridor and leaving Mumbo alone with Jimmy.

The blonde is shaking, breaths coming in short and sharp gasps.  “Hey, calm down,” Mumbo instructs, placing his hands on Jimmy’s shoulders.

The door hisses open again and Mumbo turns so quickly he’ll probably end up with whiplash. Lizzie stumbles in, panting hard but otherwise uninjured. Shadows still shroud her face but they’re starting to slip away.

“Keep your disguise,” Mumbo says quickly, holding his hands up. Lizzie tilts her head in confusion, glancing past Mumbo. Her gaze lands on Jimmy’s trembling figure, eyes widening and mouth falling open.

A small noise leaves her throat, words struggling to form. “Bli– Flick… what the fuck?”

“Do you know each other?” Mumbo asks awkwardly, gesturing between the two. He doesn’t get an acknowledgement, Jimmy rendered silent and Lizzie still trying to stammer out words.

Mumbo backs away slightly, only just avoiding Lizzie as she flies forward. The shadows drop from around her, retreating into the corners of the room and revealing the flash of pink hair. Lizzie throws herself at Jimmy, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

It shocks Jimmy out of his stupor, returning the hug easily. He’s shorter than Lizzie by a few inches, but Lizzie’s crumpled forward, her head pressed into Jimmy’s shoulder. Yellow wings wrap around both of them, a cocoon of soft plumage.

Mumbo shifts his weight from foot to foot, clasping his arms in front of him. “I’m gonna… go,” he mutters, following the corridor that False went down. There’s still no response.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Lizzie ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Lizzie can hardly make sense of the thoughts stumbling around her mind. For the first time in six years, she’s holding someone from her past. She doesn’t want to let go for fear of losing him again.

Feathers brush along her back, pushing in against her figure. Both of them are shaking, tears leaving matching marks across their cheeks.

“How the fuck are you here?” Lizzie manages to choke out, pulling back slightly to examine Jimmy. His wings are brighter than she remembers and slightly larger. His eyes are brighter as well, a glint of mischief shining in it that had been missing when they left.

Jimmy laughs, the sound strangled in his throat. “You have no idea what’s happened these past few years.”

Lizzie sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I take it this is a sit down conversation?”

Jimmy nods, finally pulling his wings back and tucking them against his spine. He still looks like the small, scared twenty year old Lizzie fled with. Lizzie takes his hand in hers, gently guiding him down the hallway. She sees the door to False’s room quickly close, both Mumbo and False’s faces disappearing before Jimmy can see them. Lizzie rolls her eyes, shouldering open the door to her own room.

It’s a large bedroom, but still cozy. The walls are a pale blue, the carpet a contrasting white, soft under Lizzie’s feet. A simple bed is pushed into the corner, pink bedsheets still rumpled from that morning. Sheer blue curtains drape down over the bed, pulled back with thick teal ribbons.

Fake plants hang from the ceiling, making the space feel more homey than it actually is. A small, oak desk is tucked into one corner, papers scattered across the surface. A plush armchair is in the other corner, blue fabric paired with pink and white pillows. Along one of the walls is a bookshelf that’s half books and half trinkets that Lizzie’s collected over the years.

“Take a seat,” Lizzie says, nodding to her bed. Jimmy moves uncertainly and Lizzie assumes it’s because the space is so foreign to him. She leaves Jimmy alone to make himself comfortable, finding her feet carrying her to the kitchen.

Footsteps behind her alert her to the company. “You two can go home if you want,” she hums, not looking over her shoulder. Mumbo and False squeak in surprise, falling over each other to try and get away.

Lizzie laughs drily, leaning against the kitchen counter and raising her eyebrows at the two. Mumbo’s mask is pulled off, completely hidden in the folds of his jumper. False’s goggles are pushed into her hair, making her look slightly like a crazy scientist. 

“We were just leaving,” False exclaims, holding her hands up.

“Relax,” Lizzie scoffs, flicking the kettle on. “I’m not going to scold you guys for being curious. But I will ask that neither of you try to eavesdrop.”

Mumbo nods solemnly. “That sounds fair. But… how do you know each other?”

Lizzie knows her past has caught up with her now and there’s no way for her to get out of it. She stalls for just a bit longer by pulling two mugs out, placing a teabag in each. She slips a spoonful of honey into the one that becomes Jimmy’s.

“How about I share it with you later?” she tries, hands trembling as she pours boiling water into each mug. She pulls out her own teabag, adding milk to both drinks.

False offers a sympathetic look, reaching one wing out to brush against Lizzie’s side. “Take your time. Do you want us to tell Imp and Skizz to come in?”

Lizzie nods, blinking back tears. False herds Mumbo out of the room, back down the corridor. Lizzie carefully carries the two teas back to her room, nudging the door open with her hip.

Jimmy’s taken up residence on the end of her bed, his shoes placed neatly under the structure and his knees tucked up under his body. One of Lizzie’s fluffy white pillows is hugged tightly to his chest, only slightly visible through the yellow feathers that are tucked around his figure.

“I’ve got you tea!” Lizzie announces, handing out the mug that’s still got the string of a tea bag dangling out of it. Jimmy takes a tentative sip of it, almost as though he’s scared it’ll be poisoned. His eyes widen almost instantly as he looks up at Lizzie.

“You remember how I have my tea?”

It’s a small thing for him to notice but Lizzie’s lips still tug into a smile. She climbs onto her bed, facing Jimmy and leaning back against the wall. Steam rises out of her mug, warming her face.

They sit in silence for a while. Lizzie’s tea is almost drained when Jimmy finally speaks, his voice quiet and timid. “I guess you’re looking for an explanation?”

“That would be good,” Lizzie responds.

Jimmy sighs, draining the last of his drink and placing the mug on the carpet below the bed. “Well you know that I went to the Speakers after I was with you. I just… I thought that they’d be better than the Watchers, you know?”

Gods, did Lizzie know. That was the exact reason she left the Watchers as well. But she’d found her place in the Fringe, recruiting and directing people who think the city needs peace. Jimmy still hadn’t agreed with their morals, continuing to flee from the Watchers.

Him and Lizzie and sworn to stay in touch, but Jimmy moved so often that Lizzie had lost track of him. She nods, prompting her friend to continue.

“They weren’t better,” Jimmy whispers, voice breaking. “It took me five years to earn their trust and just when I thought I was getting somewhere Grian found me. Only a few weeks ago. He threatened me and – well you know how he is. I started passing off information and– oh fuck. Don't say your name. Or where we are. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Jimmy’s features pale, eyes filling with panic. Lizzie darts forward, abandoning her cup of tea on her nightstand. Lizzie grabs his hands, maintaining his eye contact. “Hey, what’s wrong? Jim talk to me.”

Jimmy points at his wrist, metal encircling the skin. There’s a purple disc set into the bracelet, glowing ever so slightly. “It listens to me– they listen to me.”

“Grian?” Lizzie asks, waiting for Jimmy’s nod of confirmation. She can tell Jimmy won’t talk any more with the Watchers listening. He might’ve already given too much away. Lizzie holds her finger up, signalling for Jimmy to wait where he is.

Lizzie knocks on False’s door, opening it before she gets a response. False’s room is far plainer than hers, simple white walls with a colourful rug along the floor. Mumbo and False jump when Lizzie walks in, the cards in Mumbo’s hand scattering across the carpet.

“I win,” False hums, leaning over to look at the cards that were now revealed. Mumbo groans, hanging his head as False grins, picking up the cards again. “What’s up Liz?”

“Mumbo, I need your help,” Lizzie says.

“Gladly!” Mumbo announces, poking his tongue out at False as he throws a few more cards at her face.

He scrambles to his feet, trailing Lizzie out. Lizzie stops in the hallway outside her room, turning to study Mumbo. “Do you care about your disguise?”

When Mumbo shakes his head Lizzie pushes the door open. Jimmy jumps at the arrival of a new person, but relaxes when he recognises Mumbo.

“What am I helping with?” Mumbo asks, leaning against one of the posts of Lizzie’s bed.

Jimmy holds up his wrist, gesturing to the bracelet trapping his wrist. He looks like he’s trying to not give anything else away, which Lizzie does appreciate but the damage is already done.

“The Watchers are listening through that. Think you can break it?” She asks. Jimmy makes a strangled sound, staring at Lizzie whose smile softens. “Don’t worry, they’ll never be able to find us here. We’re on the opposite side of the city to them.”

It’s a lie – the Fringe isn’t actually far from the Watchers. As Lizzie discovered, the Watchers, Speakers and the Fringe all operate in a very central part of Spire, with the Fringe being the furthest to the east and closest to the docks.

Jimmy nods, swallowing thickly. “It’ll notify them when we start tampering with it.”

“They’re already pissed off enough. I’m sure this won’t be an issue,” Mumbo chuckles, yanking Jimmy forward to examine the device. He squints, spinning it around slightly to get a good look at it. Jimmy winces as Mumbo pulls at the bracelet, creating room between the metal and his skin. “This might tickle. Or hurt. I’m not really sure.”

Jimmy’s eyes widen in pure horror, drawing a laugh from Lizzie. “He won’t kill you, don’t worry.”

Electricity crackles around Mumbo’s fingertips, circling the metal in small flashes. Jimmy yelps, trying to pull his arm back but Mumbo has a good grip on him. The bracelet seems to scream, a high pitched noise echoing around Lizzie’s room before it falls silent. The glow on the disc has stopped and the thick clasp falls open.

Mumbo catches it, popping the back off the disc and looking at the wires. “Fuck, I fried it. I was trying to avoid that.”

“But it’s no longer listening?” Jimmy asks slowly, staring at the small red circle, the only evidence on his wrist that the bracelet used to sit there.

“No,” Mumbo groans. “It’s completely broken now. I’ll try and see if I can decipher anything else though. Haven’t been able to look at Watcher tech yet.”

He’s muttering to himself now, completely engrossed in the prospect of new technology. Lizzie shakes her head fondly as Mumbo excuses himself.

Jimmy catches Mumbo’s arm before he leaves. “Thank you, Surge. I owe you so much now.”

“Oh don’t worry about that,” Mumbo huffs, waving his arm. “Also it’s Mumbo. You know what I look like and Liz trusts you and I’ve never particularly cared about my identity. It’s always been this one here stopping us from spilling our identities in public. Ridiculous rule if you ask me.”

Jimmy nods but doesn’t get a chance to respond before Mumbo is practically skipping away, muttering about ways to use the coding within the bracelet.

“I didn’t know he could do that,” Jimmy admits as Lizzie reclaims her seat on the bed.

“Mumbo’s not usually on the battlefield,” Lizzie says. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great fighter. He just prefers to invent things – if you hear any random explosions, it’s probably him. Or we’ve let Skizz– Halo– Skizz too close to the toaster again.” She finally gives up, having already slipped the name. It’s not like Jimmy’s going to do anything with that information and she knows it.

Jimmy laughs, but there’s not much humour behind it. He looks down at his lap, wringing his fingers together. “Where was I?”

“You were starting to pass information to Grian,” Lizzie prompts.

Jimmy makes a small sound that’s a mix of sadness and regret. “I didn’t think I had another choice. I didn’t share much, just trivial stuff. But then Flux got taken and I – Martyn got involved.”

Lizzie grimaces because Martyn’s hot-headed at the best of times. Jimmy continues, voice shaking. “I promised that he – Flux that is – wouldn’t be hurt, because that’s not what the Speakers do. But I helped the Watchers infiltrate, because what other choice did I have with Martyn breathing down my neck with a dagger and…”

Jimmy trails off, a sob escaping his lips. Tears are rolling down his face, his eyes even redder and puffier than before. Lizzie shifts, moving forward until she’s pressed up gently against him.

“They’d been torturing Flux,” Jimmy gasps between heaving sobs. “I helped him escape, but there wasn’t anything else I could do.”

Lizzie pushes her shoulder into Jimmy’s snaking one arm around his torso and pulling him in close. His wings unfurl slightly, just enough to wrap around Lizzie’s shoulders like a soft blanket. “It wasn’t your fault,” she says.

“I know,” Jimmy says, finally evening his breathing out. “I still… I checked with Hawk and the rest of the team and they didn’t know about it which is at least a bit comforting. I told them that Bird had found me though and you can guess where that went down. Mumbo found me when I was in a forced meeting with Grian to give over the identities of the Speakers. I didn’t have them.”

“I think it’s a good thing Mumbo was there then,” Lizzie says, trying to put a smile on. It doesn’t exactly work, but Jimmy’s lips do twitch slightly so it’s a step in the right direction.

“I owe you guys a lot,” Jimmy sighs.

Lizzie scoffs. “Don’t worry about it. You saved me multiple times all those years ago. I’ve finally repaid the favour. Where are you staying right now?”

“Speakers’ Head Quarters,” Jimmy responds stiffly. “I can’t be at my apartment anymore. I’ll have to move again now that I’ve pissed Grian off so much. At least it means I get Norman back – Myriad’s looking after him at the moment, so he’s in good hands at least.”

“You don’t know the names of your teammates, do you?” Lizzie asks suddenly.

Jimmy shakes his head slowly. “The Speakers value secrecy too much. I don’t even know if I can go back to them right now. I just… need some time.”

“You can stay here,” Lizzie offers instantly. “We don’t have spare rooms but I’m the only other one who’s here full time. The Watchers have no idea where this is – nor do the Speakers. It’s entirely safe here and I can scare the others into leaving you alone.”

Jimmy takes a few seconds to consider before nodding slightly.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾✩☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

It seems to be a week of tough conversations. Lizzie stares at the ground, eyes tracing the jagged edge of a coffee stain on the concrete. She’s purposefully avoiding the four pairs of eyes trained on her.

Jimmy seems to be the only one not intent on drawing the truth out of her, happy to sit next to her. He’s close enough that she can feel the warmth of his feathers but not so close that he’s actually touching her.

It’s been two days since Jimmy and Lizzie reunited. Lizzie finally needs to face the music and confess the truths about her past to her team. She’s put it off for far too long now.

She keeps telling herself that it’ll just be like ripping a bandaid off. Lizzie takes a deep breath, opening her mouth and letting the words tumble out. “I used to be with the Watchers.”

There’s silence. Lizzie doesn’t know what she was expecting, but she thinks yelling or even gasps would be better than this. The silence feels like it drags on forever. Finally, Skizz breaks it.

He coughs, exchanging an awkward glance with Impulse. “Liz, we already knew.”

Lizzie has to do a double take, her brain trying to catch up with what was just said. “How–”

“The girl who wields shadows, long black hair, trident,” Impulse says, listing off his fingers. “We all knew Comet, Lizzie. We knew you had your reasons for not telling us, and you had your reasons for changing to Nyx. We never asked because we knew you’d tell us when you were ready.”

“Didn’t think it would take the arrival of another ex-Watcher,” False comments, nodding at Jimmy who flails slightly, eyes widening.

Lizzie hadn’t shared Jimmy’s story with the Fringe yet, so there’s no reason why they should know his previous occupation. She starts laughing, because how else does one react in this situation?

“Why’d you leave?” Skizz asks once Lizzie’s calmed down.

“The Watchers were getting more aggressive and no one was listening to reason. No matter how much I tried, I was seen as the one that was out of my mind. Jimmy was the only one that listened so we left. I made the Fringe but then Jim and I went our separate ways. Then I found you, Skizz and well, it built from there.”

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” False asks quietly, the unanswered question hanging in the air.

Lizzie takes a deep breath, thinking for a while before she answers. “I was my best kept secret. I guess I thought that you wouldn’t accept me knowing what I used to do?”

Skizz snorts instantly, laughing slightly as he leans forward. “I was literally a thief before you found me. Mumbo was definitely close to blowing someone up. Impulse took joy in just lifting people onto the top of buildings and leaving them there for fun and False was… actually fairly normal.”

Lizzie can’t help but smile at that. Whilst she’d hunted down False and Mumbo, it would probably be more accurate to say Impulse and Skizz found her. She’d only left the Watchers for two weeks when her wallet was pick-pocketed. She’d chased the offender through the alleyways before bowling him over. One thing led to another and not only had Lizzie gotten her wallet back but had found her first friend outside the Watchers.

Impulse found the two of them a month later, after Lizzie had recruited Mumbo. Lizzie had been walking down the street, completely innocently when the ground gave way from under her. Instead of helping her, Skizz followed the trail of magic to find Impulse, cackling gleefully to himself as he hoisted Lizzie further into the air.

Safe to say that Lizzie certainly shouldn’t have been ashamed of her previous occupation, but that’s the way hindsight works, isn’t it?

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾✩☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“I’m not asking you to leave them!” Lizzie finally explodes, throwing her arm out. She stands so suddenly from the couch that the small bundle of dark brown fur tumbles from her lap with a yelp, staring incredulously up at Lizzie. “I’m asking you to see some fucking sense.”

Joel groans, running a hand through his hair. “And I’m telling you to keep my occupation – which you apparently hate – out of this.”

Lizzie throws her head back, a frustrated, strangled noise escaping her throat. It’s an argument that’s been revisited every few months over the span of six years. Every time, it ends up back to the same conclusion. Lizzie won’t bring up her disapproval with Joel’s morals if he keeps all mention of work out of the conversation.

“If it’s so much of a big deal to you, why are you still with me?” Joel bites and it’s something new, not a part of the normal script that’s been fired back and forth countless times.

Lizzie stumbles, pausing to look at Joel who pales. His wings droop under her gaze, mouth opening slightly.

“Well if that’s how you feel,” Lizzie says coldly, narrowing her eyes.

Joel holds up his hand, a few half formed words exiting his mouth before he finally manages a coherent sentence. “That’s not what  I mean, and you know it!”

Everything clicks into place for Lizzie at once. A wall that she’d constructed all those years ago finally tumbling down.

“Why did we ever think this could work?” she asks, voice suddenly quiet. Joel’s eyes look pained as he steps towards Lizzie. She doesn’t protest as his arms wrap around her, under her shoulders. Lizzie falls forward, figure shaking as one of Joel’s arms wind up into her hair. 

“It still can,” he offers, voice equally as soft. Lizzie pulls away just enough to rest her forehead against his, breath warm on each other’s cheeks.

A sad smile tugs at Lizzie’s lips. “How long can we keep secrets from each other while still staying together?”

Joel sighs, arms tightening around Lizzie even more. It’s comforting but Lizzie knows the decision’s been made. It probably should have been made a long time ago.

There’s no resistance as Lizzie pulls back, crouching down to rub between Meri’s ears. She doesn’t have a bag on her, which makes leaving easier in a way. “I’m sorry, Joel.”

Joel nods slowly, watching Lizzie exit his apartment. Lizzie’s hand hesitates on the door handle and a part of her is saying that they can still work. But she knows that she can’t, because Joel doesn’t even know where she lives. They know each other so well. They’ve been together for eight years, so of course they do.

But they’ve been drifting apart like stars, the chasm between them deepening until they could hardly see each other across the void.

Lizzie pushes the door open, not looking back over her shoulder. She’s strong willed, but she doesn’t think she’d ever leave again if she turned back.

It seems her and Joel have truly been cursed from the very beginning, forever going to end up alone.

Chapter Text

There’s a black hole in the living room floor

I keep standing on the edge and looking in

And on the other side is another life

A version of me with a spark in her eyes that I don’t have

And now she’s laughing

And it’s killing me that I cannot see what’s making her laugh

From where I’m standing

- Black Hole Fantasy by The Crane Wives

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Martyn ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Martyn hasn’t left Ren’s room. He would be lying if he said he had more than five hours sleep over the past four days and has eaten more than three meals. He’s still donned in his bloodied and charred white shirt and black pants, the red flag wrapped around his shoulder like a blanket. The corset has at least been pulled off, disposed of on the floor.

Two axes are propped at the door, browned blood flecked on the blade. Martyn hasn’t had the energy to clean them yet. He’s hardly had the energy to move off the armchair, slumping into a fitful rest for a few minutes at a time every few hours. 

Ren’s hardly stirred since Martyn got him back. At least everyone else has had the sense to actually leave him alone. Gem would occasionally wander in with some medication, or to check on his injuries. A heart monitor provided constant beeping in the corner, a white noise that Martyn’s learnt to tune out after he lost count of how many times it beeped.

The few times the brunette has stirred, it’s been incoherent and he’s been gone within a few minutes. Martyn stifles a yawn, forcing his eyes back open.

He doesn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if Ren woke up while he was asleep. There’s a soft knock at the door, a small creak as the wood swings inwards.

Bright red hair and stark green eyes meet Martyn’s gaze as Gem shuffles in, a tray full of food and a steaming cup of brown liquid balanced in her hands.

“What do you want?” Martyn says, a bit more harshly than intended. 

Gem doesn’t bat an eyelash, placing the tray on the table tucked in the corner. “Have you eaten today?”

Martyn is taken aback, blinking a few times before slowly shaking his head. Gem sighs, pushing a bowl of some thick orange soup into his hands. Martyn tries to protest but Gem is having none of it. 

“I’m not hungry,” Martyn tries but is betrayed by the low rumble of his stomach.

Gem raises an eyebrow, waiting for Martyn to take a small spoonful of soup. Martyn must admit it does taste very nice and starts warming him from the inside out.

“How much have you slept?” Gem questions.

“What is this? A fucking interrogation?” Martyn huffs.

Gem rolls her eyes. “Martyn…”

“Like, five hours.”

“Well that’s not so bad–”

“Since we got Ren back.”

Gem groans, hanging her head. “You are impossible. Can you please get some sleep? Or at least have a shower?”

Martyn shakes his head forcefully, glancing at Ren. “I don’t want him to be alone if he wakes up.”

“I’ll stay here then. But you’ve almost got green fumes coming off you,” Gem says, stepping aside. She points to the door, leaving no room for argument. “Go.”

Martyn grumbles as he leaves the room, letting steam fill the bathroom in billowing clouds. The water scalds his skin as he steps under the torrential stream, watching dirt and dried blood swirl down the drain. He doesn’t allow himself the luxury of staying under for too long, just spending long enough to run shampoo and conditioner through his hair.

There’s a chill that runs down Martyn’s spine as he flicks the water off, the warmth coming to an abrupt end. He quickly towels the water off himself, pulling a large shirt and cargos over his still damp skin.

Small rivers of water run down his back from the base of his hair. Martyn does have to admit he feels better now that he’s clean for the first time in days. 

Gem’s still sitting in Ren’s room when he returns. There’s a book propped open in her lap, music quietly humming from her phone. It’s still not loud enough to ward off the beeping of the heart monitor.

“He didn’t stir,” Gem assures Martyn, gently closing the book. “I changed the dressing on his leg and rewrapped his arm. Everything else will just come with time. Can I look at your shoulder?”

Martyn grunts, taking a seat on the armchair that Gem vacated. He turns so the redhead can examine the arrow wound on his shoulder.

It’s still slightly red and swollen, definitely inflamed after the shower, but it’s mostly closed. The head had come out easily, leaving only a small puncture behind. Gem smears some green ointment across the wound before Martyn can protest. He yelps, trying to pull his shoulder away as it burns.

Gem pushes her weight against him, forcing him to stay still in the chair as she rips off a length of bandage and wrapping it tightly across Martyn’s shoulder. He hisses but doesn’t protest anymore, letting his figure go limp under Gem’s weight.

“Ren is a far more compliant patient,” she mutters, taking a step back.

Martyn snorts, rolling his injured shoulder. It twinges slightly but overall isn’t too bad. “That’s because he's unconscious. It’s not hard to be compliant.”

Martyn rolls his eyes, bidding Gem farewell as he takes back up his vigil at Ren’s bedside. Thankfully Gem doesn’t ask him to try and lie down in his own bed. She’d be fighting a losing battle.

Martyn leans forward, taking Ren’s cold and clammy hand in his own. He can feel the vague thrum of a heartbeat as he presses his thumb to Ren’s pulse point. He feels calmer, being able to feel the heartbeat of the other man, despite the constant ringing of the heartrate monitor.

“Come back Ren,” Martyn mutters, voice barely above a whisper as he runs his thumb in small circles across Ren’s calloused hand. “I need you to come back to me. Please.”

Of course there’s no response.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Grian ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Grian grunts as his back hits the wall, a few feathers bending out of place uncomfortably. He manages to spin to the side just in time, barely avoiding the heavy sword that ends up chipping off a small amount of brick.

Myriad swears quietly, spinning as Grian flings himself off the wall. He tightens his grip on the leather handle of his sword, striking out at Myriad’s legs. The cyan-haired man jumps, Grian’s sword slicing through the air like butter but failing to hit its target.

“Fuck you,” he snarls, righting his footing. Myriad is probably grinning, but Grian’s got no way to tell. “So called noble and honourable fuckers.”

“You are fun to rile up,” Myriad returns, managing to catch Grian’s wing with the tip of his blade. A singular blackened feather rips out, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his nerve endings. He knows he’s getting sloppy and reckless, swinging out too wide and ducking at the wrong moments.

Grian barely avoids the next glint of the blade as Myriad drives the sword towards his neck. He yells, pushing all his weight forward to throw the taller man off. Myriad stumbles slightly at the sudden force of Grian’s attack.

The avian takes this opportunity, thrusting his sword forward and watching as Myriad topple over, landing with a grunt. Blood trickles onto the dusty floor, mingling with the debris scattered there already.

Grian slinks forward, gripping the pommel of his sword with both hands, raising it above his head. Myriad’s sword has clattered to the floor, kicked just out of reach. His hand creeps across the ground, itching to be able to meet Grian with the metal.

A malicious grin spreads across Grian’s face as he drops his own sword, lifting his foot and stomping harshly onto Myriad's outstretched fingers. To his credit, there’s hardly any noise of discomfort or pain as Grian leans his weight forward until he’s crouching, face to face with Myriad.

“You’re no better than us,” he whispers, dragging a long finger across Myriad’s jaw.

Grian feels a boot against his shoulder blades, the air knocked from his lungs as he’s pushed out of the way. Myriad is up in a second, grabbing his sword with his left hand. Grian can’t stop the grin when he sees mangled fingers held closely to Myriad’s chest. He’ll be easier to take on now that he’s fighting with his non-dominant hand. 

Curses fall from Grian’s mouth as he feels the wind of an arrow brush past his ear. He’d never bothered to see why he was pulled off of Myriad. Hawk dodges Grian’s attack with ease, positioning himself behind Grian as Myriad lunges forward.

Grian’s forced to push into the air, hovering for barely a second to gain his bearing before landing. He’s a good fighter, and easily able to take on Hawk and Myriad, but not both of them after an almost hour long battle when he’s sporting many of his own injuries.

He doesn’t have to retreat though.

There’s a crack of thunder as the air in front of Grian swirls slightly, dark purple and inky black springing forward. Probably a bit dramatic if he’s being honest – he knows full well the teleportation can happen silently, but the watchers are always keen on the theatrics.

Pearl leaps from the portal, panting slightly as she brings her scythe down through the air, easily stopping the attack Myriad was sending towards Grian.

Grian tunes out the shifter and teleporter, gripping his sword tightly to face Hawk. He finds fighting Hawk easier than any of the other Speakers. He’s an incredible archer, Grian does have to admit that, but it means that Grian has the upper hand in close range combat.

His sword screeches as it hits Hawk’s, a few sparks flying. Grian pushes forward, taking a few seconds to glance around the battlefield. His gaze narrows onto Anvil, a rush of ice splashing down Grian’s spine. The power is unfamiliar to him, but he feels the metal of his own sword thrumming beneath his fingers. He ignores that tingle, reaching slightly further.

There’s an itch as he feels Hawk’s sword beneath him. All he needs to do is twist his wrist slightly and pull back, watching the steel in the sword warp out of place until it’s twisted beyond use.

Hawk grunts, throwing the sword to his side. Grian crosses his arms smugly, dodging the punch thrown towards him. “Struggling there, Hawky?”

“This is hardly a fair fight,” Hawk grunts, ducking the sword thrown his way. “But it makes sense. You know you wouldn’t be able to beat me if the cards were even.”

Grian feels his previously gained power rush from his body, concentration lost completely. His fingers twitch as he slowly slides the purple gleaming sword back into the sheath at his side.

Grian hadn’t even realised that his and Hawk’s dance had drawn them away from the rest of the battlefield, obscuring them behind a collection of large vans.

“I can beat you no matter what we’re doing,” Grian hums, ducking Hawk’s punch. He drops to the ground, flinging his leg out to catch Hawk’s ankle. The other man stumbles, barely keeping his balance as he braces himself against a lamp post. Hawk lashes out again, aiming straight for Grian’s right shoulder.

Grian sidesteps, pushing his wing out and catching the Speaker across the chest. Hawk tumbles to the floor finally and Grian is quick to lean over him. “Told you so.”

The man under him grins, reaching one hand out and reaching around Grian. The avian screams, pulling back when he feels strong fingers pinch the junction where his wings meet with his back, the sensitive skin lighting with pain.

Within seconds Grian feels harsh rocks sink into his back as Hawk’s forearm presses across his collarbone. Most aviands are small, but Grian is particularly small, light and nimble. That’s worth nothing when someone far larger and more muscular than he is is pinning him firmly against a wall.

“You’re cute when you’re losing,” Hawk murmurs, face only inches from Grian’s. He has half the mind to spit in the other’s face but settles for turning his head away, struggling uselessly against his constraints. His wings are uncomfortably bent behind him, one arm trapped behind his waist with the other held at his side with Hawk’s free arm.

Grian glares at the Speaker, baring his teeth, deciding turning away will appear far too weak. He lifts the purple haze just enough to reveal the lower half of his jaw so Hawk can see the way his mouth moves as he speaks. “You’ve caught me now. Gonna drag me in, break my ribs and make me bleed until I break like you did to Flux? Pluck my wings clean of feathers? You Speakers are no better than us.”

The sound that escapes Hawk is halfway between a sigh and a groan as he yanks Grian’s free arm up. He transfers his grip between hands, leaving him with the ability to reach into his pocket. Grian watches as a small, balled up piece of paper appears.

“If you would just fucking listen to me,” Hawk hisses, roughly pushing the piece of paper into Grian’s open fist. Confusion clouds Grian’s judgment as he clasps his fingers around the paper.

He doesn’t have time to question it, because he finds his opening. Hawk’s weight shifts, only slightly, and it lets Grian push off the wall by about an inch. It’s not much, but it’s enough to drag one of his wings free. He feels feathers rip from place but he grits his teeth, bringing the plumage forward to forcefully flick Hawk across the face.

The Speaker stumbles back quickly readjusting his mask across his lower face. Grian feels a sick sense of satisfaction when Hawk’s fingers come away stained red with blood.

Grian takes only a second to shove the piece of paper into his pocket, deeming it a problem to deal with later. He throws his fist forward, managing to connect with the side of Hawk’s face.

There’s a small flash as his visors stutter to a halt, the HUD blinking out with a fizzle. The orange and blue glow doesn’t disappear however. Grian assumes there’s some sort of backup technology to keep the other’s identity as hidden as possible.

Hawk sidesteps his next attack, sending a kick towards Grian’s chest. Grian is forced to throw himself onto the road, lucky the entire area is closed off because he knows this is an incredibly busy commuting route usually.

Hawk follows him and the two dance back through the debris in a coordinated show of arms and feet. The sound of battle reaches Grian before him and Hawk are back in the main fight. Grian gives up in his hand to hand combat, ducking to the ground to let Hawk go tumbling over his own head.

He pulls his sword from his sheath, feeling the heavy blade sit comfortably in his hand. Hawk ducks as the blade almost takes off his ear. Grian expects him to flee, but instead the other man catches him off guard.

He leans forward, spinning slightly to avoid Grian’s blade. He ends up over Grian’s shoulder, breath whispering against the avian’s neck. “I’ll be waiting for you. Whether you’re there or not, just know I’m on your team now.”

There’s something familiar about his voice, but he doesn’t have time to think it over, Hawk already pulling away, facing Grian again. There’s a yell that pulls Grian’s attention over his shoulder. Pearl is grinning madly, blood dripping from her scythe as she’s backed further towards Grian by Myriad.

Hawk begins to press in on Grian, pushing him towards the centre of the battle. Around him, Grian can see Gem locked in an intense battle with Anvil, easily holding her own. Martyn’s blazing across the battlefield, still enraged by Ren’s capture close to a week ago. He’s probably fighting with enough force and fury for the both of them.

Grian feels his back hit something and for a sinking second he fears it’s another wall. Then he feels the soft brush of velvety moth wings. He doesn’t have to turn to know it’s Pearl, bloodstained scythe visible in the corner of his eyes.

“How you been?” Grian asks calmly, falling into an easy circling motion, always keeping Pearl on his back. Hawk and Myriad are in a similar sequence, rotating around the two avians.

Pearls’ wings ruffle and she lunges forward, hissing slightly just to scare Hawk. “It’s been a great fight.”

“You just enjoy tormenting Myriad.”

“Everyone needs a pastime.”

Grian goes to lunge forward when Hawk moves too close. He hesitates when he sees the other man place a hand subtly on his own hip, right where Grian stuffed the piece of paper in his own pocket. He tilts his head ever so slightly.

Grian stops his attack, lowering his sword ever so slightly. I’m on your team.

Of course it could be a trick, a way of getting the Watchers to back off. But Hawk’s never truly lied to Grian’s knowledge. He’s scammed people, yes, but there are always half truths in his words. And there’s something about his words that makes Grian want to believe him.

He raises a shaking hand, flicking his comms on. “Retreat,” he orders, voice dry and scratchy in his throat, words feeling heavy and foreign on his tongue.

Pearl gives him a strange look. Grian shakes his head, gesturing to the sky with a nod. She shrugs, flinging herself into the air. Grian stretches his own wings out, wincing at the loss of a few of his feathers throughout the battle. Hawk’s eyes crinkle with a smile, slightly crooked even from what Grian can see.

The Speaker nods once, muttering something into his own comms. All around them, the Speakers cease their fighting, letting the Watchers flee into the air (or abandoned alleys in Tango, Gem and Tilly’s case).

As soon as the battle is behind them, out of sight, Pearl pounces on Grian.

Her words rip into him, snarling and spitting. “We were winning. We could’ve won that. Why the fuck did you call for a retreat?”

Grian takes a moment to level his shaking breath. “Do you trust me Portal?”

Pearl’s movements don't slow but Grian knows her well enough to know that there’s conflict pulsing through her veins. Finally, she nods just once.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾✩☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Grian’s hands are shaking as he stares at the crumpled piece of paper. He can hear the breathing of his team behind him, reading the exact same message Grian is.

We didn’t know about Flux. We didn’t mean for it to end like that.

Meet at the old lighthouse tonight when the moon’s at its highest. Bird and one other only. No battle – a temporary truce if you will.

- Hawk Eye

“Well that’s clearly a trap,” Martyn exclaims as soon as he’s finished reading. “I vote we go in guns blazing and kill those fuckers.”

Grian holds up his hand, glaring at Martyn. “You are not a part of this discussion, Martyn.”

“Why the fuck not?” Martyn hisses. “You’re seriously considering going to meet with the people who took Ren?”

“You’re too emotionally attached to this subject,” Grian says coldly. Martyn swears at him, storming off down the corridor. Grian Watches as he disappears into Ren’s room, door slamming sharply behind him.

Tango takes the letter, turning it over. “We should tell X and Zed. Get them to analyse, help formulate a plan.”

Grian shakes his head. “I need to go and see what this is. X and Zed would find a way to stop me. If any of you have a problem with this I’m more than happy to fight you over it.”

“All of us are going to be nearby. Your comms will be on at all moments and as soon as we hear anything go wrong we’re going in,” Joel says. Grian nods, because that probably is sensible to have backup nearby. Hawk most definitely will.

“Who’s going with you?” Gem asks, tilting her head slightly.

“Pearl,” Grian responds instantly, hardly having to think about his answer. “She can get us out if we really need to and we fight well together.”

Pearl nods, jaw clenching as she tightens her grip around her scythe. “On one condition.” She doesn’t wait for Grian to nod before she continues. “Go and speak to Martyn. He’s going through a lot.”

Grian hangs his head, but he knows that she’s right. He exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair as he pushes back from the table, chair scraping along the ground.

He can hear soft murmuring through Ren’s door. Part of him wants to hide in his room and tell Pearl that he did speak to Martyn. He knows there’s no point because he’s definitely been heard now. He raps his knuckles softly against the door, waiting for a soft call before pushing the door open.

Ren’s still bed-ridden, multiple bandages covering various injuries. His hair is hanging in greasy waves past his shoulders and nearing his waist and his ears are definitely more ruffled than normal, fur sticking out in every direction.

Martyn has pulled the armchair across the room so that he can reach Ren’s hand. Their fingers are interlocked, head bowed next to each other as they stop their conversation. Grian stands awkwardly in the doorway, avoiding eye contact with Martyn.

The silence feels like it’s about to be shattered with a single word.

Ren is kind enough to break it. “G! Martyn just told me about today’s battle. Specifically the letter that came out of it.”

Grian shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah… Martyn, can I talk to you?”

“You can say it here,” Martyn snaps, pulling Ren’s hand slightly closer. Ren smiles uncertainly at Grian but makes no effort to try and get Martyn to leave. Grian tries to keep his groan internal, grabbing a desk chair and taking a tentative seat on the edge.

“You know I have to go,” Grian starts.

Martyn scowls at him, crossing one of his arms across his chest. “Did you miss the part where they…” he trails off, glancing over at Ren.

“That’s why you don’t want him going?” Ren exclaims, mouth falling open.

Martyn looks at him as though he’s grown a second head. “Yes! Did you forget everything that happened while you were out?”

Ren rolls his eyes, turning to face Grian. “What exactly did the letter say, G?”

“They didn’t mean for that to happen and that they want to meet. Hawk, specifically,” Grian says. 

Ren closes his eyes, leaning his head back to think. “He’s telling the truth. That team – they didn’t have anything to do with the torture. The people who it was – they had hoods and red magic similar to G’s purple haze stuff. It wasn’t anything I had seen before but I can assure you… it wasn’t Hawk. Or any of the normal ones we fight.”

“We still shouldn’t be conspiring with them–” Martyn starts but is quickly cut off by a glare from Ren.

“I’ve already made the decision,” Grian says quietly. “Pearl and I will be leaving in a few hours.

“You know it’s the right thing to do, Martyn,” Ren murmurs, rubbing his thumb against Martyn’s palm. 

Martyn hangs his head, shoulder deflating of tension. “I don’t like it.”

“What better way to take them down than from the inside?” Ren asks gently. “It’s not like we’re going to be revealing ourselves. It’s just a meeting – nothing may come of it.”

“I know,” Martyn admits with a heavy sigh.

“Why do you even care so much?” Grian asks, curiosity lacing his words. “Pearl and I will be the ones in danger.”

Martyn pauses for a second and Grian doesn't miss the way his eyes dart to Ren, staying for only a second before meeting Grian’s again. It seems that Ren notices it too, shifting so he’s sitting up straighter against his bed.

“Martyn?” he prompts, voice soft and gentle as he tugs on Martyn’s hand to draw his attention.

The blonde glares at Grian, who makes no effort to move because he’s equally as curious. “You have no idea how close we came to losing you last week, Ren.”

“That’s always a hazard with our line of work. That’s never seemed to scare you off before,” Ren points out, tilting his head to the side. “There’s something else going on.”

“Fuck,” Martyn groans, running his free hand through his hair. Blonde strands fall into his face and tangle around the horns atop his head. “I can’t– I can’t lose you, Ren.”

Grian suddenly feels like he’s invading somewhere he shouldn’t. Ren’s eyes go wide, mouth falling open slightly. “Martyn?” he repeats, voice barely above a whisper, croaking slightly.

Martyn tries to pull away but Ren tugs his arm back down, wincing slightly as the bandage across his chest is pulled at. Martyn stops, forced to turn back and face Ren. The brunette grabs Martyn’s other hand, pulling them in so their faces are barely an inch apart.

Grian stands awkwardly, shuffling towards the door. “I’m gonna…” he says, gesturing to the hallway awkwardly. He doesn’t get a response from either man, both of them whispering to each other so quietly the words can’t reach Grian’s ears.

Pearl’s waiting in the hall when Grian leaves. She raises an eyebrow, silently questioning Grian.

“He’s good with it now,” Grian responds, ruffling his wings slightly. They still sting from the loss of feathers but nothing a few hours of rest won’t fix.

“Perfect,” Pearl nods, pushing past Grian. Her hand lands on the door handle. Grian’s quick to pull her away, fingers wrapping around her wrist.

He’s struggling to contain his laughter. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.” He doesn’t have to See to know Martyn and Ren probably don’t want interruptions.

Pearl’s mouth falls open, tilting her head. Her eyes light up when it clicks into place, a small squeal escaping her lips. “Really? Fucking finally! Took them long enough.”

“I’m going to kill you when I get out there,” Martyn yells, voice muffled by the door. Grian can’t tell if the door’s got really shit soundproofing or if Martyn had been listening to them through the wood.

Pearl cackles gleefully, skipping down the hallway. Grian shakes his head with a soft chuckle, following after Pearl’s mothwings. He does his best to ignore the dread building in his stomach at the upcoming meeting that’s sure to go terribly no matter the outcome.

It’s not like Grian’s ever seen eye to eye with any of the Speakers.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Scott ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Are you sure about this?” Scott asks for what must be the fiftieth time.

Hawk rolls his eyes, levelling Scott with a glare. “You know why this is needed, Myri. We’ve been supporting the wrong people for years now.”

“And so we view the Watchers as better?” Scott retaliates, crossing his arms.

“Absolutely not,” Hawk scoffs. “But if there’s even the slightest chance that any of the Watchers want to deflect like Blink did, then there’s a chance we can take them down from the inside while rebelling against the Speakers. I’m not seeing much of another option.”

Hawk shifts slightly, hands twisting together. Scott narrows his gaze on them, something clicking in his mind. “There’s more to your reasons, isn’t there?”

A small nod confirms Scott’s suspicions. Hawk glances around, trying to find any eavesdroppers. His gaze lands only on an empty room, too bright and sterile, but empty. “If we work with them, it might buy Blink time.”

“We haven’t seen Blink in days,” Scott responds, softly and gently. “Hawk you might need to accept the fact he’s not coming back. Or that the Watchers might have him.”

“No.” Hawk responds instantly. “We would know if they’ve got him. There’d be gloating and never letting anyone live it down. He’s in hiding and when it’s safe for him to do so, I”m finding him and bringing him back.”

“You care for him,” Scott says, jealousy rising in his chest for no valid reason. “A lot.”

Hawk laughs slightly before quietly admitting. “He’s what I think a brother would be like. You seem to care for him too.”

Scott really doesn’t like the way that bitter feeling quells, curling into the pits of his stomach, quickly replaced with an anxiety that chews at the walls of his throat. “I think I do,” he whispers, balling his fists up. It had crashed into him like a tsunami only a few weeks prior. He’d found himself focussing on Blink’s movements too closely, hanging off the avian’s every word.

It hadn’t taken him long to put a label on the strange feelings cycling through his gut. He hadn’t admitted it out loud yet, and the thought alone terrifies him.

“I think he likes you too,” Hawk hums with a shrug, oblivious to Scott’s inner turmoil. “And when we get him back – which we will – you need to admit that to him. There’s no point bottling up your feelings when you can easily do something about them.”

Scott nods, letting Hawk lead the way out of Head Quarters. The city is practically deserted, only dim flickering lights and the mewl of a stray cat that’s insisting on following them down the street.

“Have you told the others what you’re doing?” Scott eventually finds the courage to ask, his words quiet but seeming to echo off the city walls anyway.

Hawk shakes his head slowly. “I wanted to check in with Blink, but as you know he’s been missing in action. As for the others, you’re the one I trust the most. I’ll tell them all if something good comes from this meeting… maybe.”

Scott nods, falling into an easy pace behind Hawk. It’s not a long walk to the lighthouse, through long abandoned buildings and night markets that are empty of all shoppers. Waves lap gently at the rocks below the lighthouse, a single flickering light glinting off the murky water.

The only source of colour at the bay is the lighthouse itself, and even then the red stripes have dulled over time and a thin layer of grime has turned the quartz gray. 

The door’s already hanging open, fallen off one hinge and boarded up with thin planks of wood. Scott ducks into the building, turning to help Hawk climb through the fine gaps. His broad shoulders catch on a few nails, ripping the finest threads from his top.

Hawk raises his finger, tapping it against his lip. Scott didn’t need the reminder of quiet, but he appreciates it anyway. The stairs groan loudly under the weight of the two men climbing. They’re rickety and some stairs are missing, forcing Hawk and Scott to jump over them. 

They stop halfway up, replaced by a single ladder that disappears into the darkness. Hawk and Scott share a look of uncertainty until Hawk shrugs, placing his foot on the first rung of the ladder.

It creaks but doesn’t snap immediately. Hawk continues to scale the structure, pausing a few feet above Scott's head. He looks over his shoulder, gesturing for Scott to start. He gulps, contemplating shifting into a bird and flitting above Hawk’s head.

He doesn’t know if the sheer energy will bring the lighthouse down though, the whole building looking like a small gust of wind will push it into the churning ocean. Not to mention any sound that accompanies his transformations will draw unwanted attention. And he’ll need to conserve his energy. Scott grits his teeth, pulling himself up the ladder.

His hand burns with pain, the broken fingers from Bird’s attack merely hours before are very unhappy with his choice to climb a ladder, despite the intense pain medication and copious amount of bandages.

Don’t look down. Scott repeats the mantra to himself as the ground dips further and further away. The ladder continues to groan under the weight of two men, warping slightly. The rungs are all rusted and coat Scott’s fingers in a murky red that looks a bit like dried blood.

The two are almost at the top of the ladder when there’s a crack. Scott feels the rung under his hand give way, air rushing to greet him like an old friend as he’s separated from the one thing suspending him in the air.

Blood fills Scott’s mouth as he bites his tongue, the scream dying before it can reach his lips. Tears spring to Scott’s eyes as wind rushes over them. It’s over within half a second, Hawk’s arms wrapping around Scott’s ankle. He jerks at the sudden resistance, arms flailing through the air. Hawk grunts slightly as he fights to keep both him and Scott in the air.

Scott’s body starts moving on instinct, fingers wrapping around one of the lower rungs of the ladder. Scar quickly lowers himself to Scott’s level, waiting for the other to confirm he’s secured before letting go of his ankle. Scott’s feet scramble before finding purchase on a rung.

He nods at Hawk and the two continue upwards. Scott makes sure to tug on each rung to test its stability before moving upwards. 

Hawk disappears over the top of the ladder, a hand appearing seconds later to haul Scott up. Fingers tangle in the hood of his jumper, tugging until Scott tumbles into the open space.

The top of the lighthouse is just as abandoned as the bottom, a rotted wooden floor the only thing stopping their plummet. A few mounds of rubbish indicate this is a common spot for squatters. A large flickering globe hangs from the ceiling, the light catching dusk particles as it rotates around the bay below.

“We’re first here it seems,” Hawk pants, helping Scott stumble to his feet.

Sweat drips uncomfortably into Scott’s eyes as he leans against one of the walls. “Further proof that Speakers are just better,” he yawns.

As if on cue there’s the sound of wingbeats. A flash of black and purple as Bird shoots through the open window, rolling as he lands. Portal follows close behind, her scythe glinting dangerously in the moonlight. A chill runs up Scott’s spine when he sees the blood spatters still smeared across the handle and blade.

“Hope you don’t mind we took the fast route,” Bird preens, wings ruffling pretentiously behind him. His sword is already drawn, held loosely in his hand. Scott’s fingers itch to clasp around his own sword, but he knows it will be a sign of aggression. He vows that as soon as Portal reaches for her scythe his sword will be out before anyone can blink.

Hawk steps forward, nodding diplomatically. “I’m glad you decided to come, Bird.”

“What can I say? You piqued my curiosity,” Bird hums. Scott notices the way he pointedly stands on the opposite side of the lighthouse, eyes narrow.

Hawk laughs nervously. “I’m glad.” He shifts so he’s closer to Scott, almost pressed against his side. “You’ve seen the notes, you know why I’ve asked to meet. We didn’t know about what was happening to Flux.”

Hawk gestures to Scott and himself as he speaks. Scott takes it as a cue to give his story, the thought that had been circling his mind since Blink had shared the treatment of Flux. “I wouldn’t have taken him if I knew that’s what they were going to do. No one from our team was involved.”

Bird nods simply. “Flux already confirmed that. That’s the only reason we came today. You’re willing to betray the Speakers?”

“Betray is a strong word,” Hawk comments, shoulders tensing. “But we don’t agree with their ways. And after speaking to Blink, we know that the Speaker’s values are beginning to line up with the Watcher’s values. And continue down a dark path. Do you truly know what happens beneath your base?”

Bird’s shoulder tense at Blink’s name. “Flicker was misguided and disloyal. It will only be a matter of time before he leaves you too. Have you seen him recently?”

It’s been years since Scott’s heard the name Flicker. He hates the way Bird speaks of him. He’s speaking before he can stop himself. “Blink realised his errors. He was brave, unlike you. And if it weren’t for you threatening him–”

“Myriad,” Hawk hisses, elbowing Scott in the ribs. He cuts himself off suddenly, palms going clammy as Bird prowls forward.

The haze around his face backs off just enough for Scott to see the avian bare his teeth dangerously. “He told you we found him?”

“No,” Scott stutters, backing up slightly.

“That seems to be beside the point,” Hawk says smoothly, stepping forward. Scott notices the way he places his body between Scott and Bird, holding his hands out in peace.

Bird huffs but stops his advance forward. “You’re right. I’ll deal with Flicker later.”

Scott’s blood runs cold but he bites his tongue, holding his words back. He lets Hawk take over the talking, sinking into the backgrounds and opting for a tense and silent stand off with Portal.

The moth bares her teeth in a dangerous grin, waving rather condescendably. Scott stiffens, raising his hand to return the wave only slightly.

Hawk exhales, forcing his shoulders into a more relaxed position as Bird continues talking. “Why should we help you, hmm? It seems like you get the benefits and we don’t. That’s not a particularly fair deal now.”

“Because if you don’t help us it’s going to be worse than death,” Hawk says simply. Bird looks like he wants to argue, but Hawk continues over him. “They’ve got a weapon. I’ve stolen some looks at schematics before and… it’s a complete null on powers. Not temporarily, either. It’s permanent. Glitch is certain it’ll work on physical hybrid traits as well – flights and any enhanced senses. It’ll be gone as though they never existed.”

What’s visible of Portal and Bird’s faces pale. Scott feels his own head get dizzy, the ground spinning slightly. He turns to Hawk, mouth dropping slightly. “I’m sorry, when the fuck did you see this?”

Hawk groans, shaking his head slightly at Scott. He closes his mouth before another protest can leave his mouth. He knows he needs to look like there’s no secrets between their team.

“That’s what I was briefing you on before,” Hawk lies effortlessly. “The null word had escaped my mind though.”

Scott nods, feigning recognition but gritting his teeth as he gestures for Hawk to continue. “The thing is… I don’t think they’d just target you. Based on what happened with Flux… they don’t care about anyone. They’d set the device loose and hey, if a few civilians or Speakers got in the way, what’s the big loss. It’s for the greater good, after all.”

“I still don’t see how we benefit from this situation,” Bird drawls, inspecting his nails. It infuriates Scott.

Hawk sighs, taking the smallest step forward. He raises one of his hands and instantly Portal and Bird’s attention is on him. Scott finds himself leaning forward to hear the man’s quiet words. “Go and look deeper into the cause you’re supporting. Under what you’d normally see – I can guarantee you there’s more to it than what you’re actually seeing. We’ll meet back here in three days time, same time, same people. If you still don’t agree with us, we’ll go back to normal. How does that sound?”

Bird stiffens, taking a step forward. He sticks his hand out harshly, still gripping his sword tightly in his other hand. “Deal.”

Hawk grabs Bird’s hand firmly in his own, hardly flinching as the avian pulls him in. Scott swears he sees Hawk bend slightly so Bird can whisper in his ear, something that makes the corners of Hawk’s eyes and mask crinkle with a smile. “I can assure you that won’t be a problem,” he says diplomatically, pulling away from Bird.

The shorter man nods once, reaching behind him. Portal’s fingers brush his and the two are gone in a flash of darkness that swirls the reality before Scott for only a second.

“I take it we don’t have a fancy way out like that?” Scott groans, turning back to the ladder.

Hawk shakes his head sadly. “We’ve got the long way now.”

The descent down the ladder is silent, the only sound is the heavy pants of the two men as they scramble across the rusty rungs. Hawk starts down the stairs, winding further towards the ground. Scott figures he’s going to have to ask the question eventually. “So the power nulling weapon,” he prompts, slowing. Hawk matches his pace, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“I saw the blueprints this morning. I was sneaking around the workshop and Glitch and Doc were having a fight with one of the leaders about using the weapon in a public place – specifically some small thing they’d been asked to program. I snapped a picture of the prints and… it’s bad, Myri. It could strip every person of any abilities and power within a three block radius if it’s used at full power. And if the Speakers aren’t scared of using it around civilians, they don’t care about us.”

Scott shivers, because he can’t imagine not being able to shift his features. He relies far too heavily on his powers at times. “And how do you know that the Watchers are going to find something? You didn’t just overhear about the weapon did you?”

Hawk shakes his head slowly, dropping his voice so it’s barely above a whisper. Scott’s forced to lean in closer, the lights around his antlers casting a bright glow across the mask and glasses adorning Hawk’s features.

“The Speakers – Cohnal,” he waits for Scott to nod before continuing. “They were talking about this person – Xelqua I think. Leader of the Watchers.”

Scott recognises the name vaguely, but he can’t place from where. He hums, prompting Hawk to keep speaking, the words falling from his mouth like a breath but seeming to echo through the empty lighthouse, far too loud at the same time.

“They were saying there’s been missing civilians – mainly on the younger side and with menial and weak abilities or powers. They’ve managed to track one of these missing people to the Watchers. I don’t know how, but the Watchers… they’re experimenting on civilians. They have to be.”

“And you think if Bird sees this he’ll have a change of heart,” Scott concludes. Hawk nods, taking a step away from the stag hybrid. His face is once again cast in shadows. 

He sighs heavily, ducking to get out of the lighthouse. There’s not much more light in the open, only the grimy search light flickering from the top of the building and the bright light casting a glow around Scott’s face.

“What did Bird say to you?” he asks finally, before Hawk could disappear.

Hawk shifts uncomfortably. “That he could find Jimmy with a blink of an eye, and if we were wrong, and wasting his time, he wouldn’t hesitate to come clean on his promises.”

Scott’s insides twist uncomfortably at the threat. But he doesn’t know what promise, and who’s the one in danger here. Curiosity overcomes the discomfort, the words falling from his mouth without a second thought. “Who’s Jimmy?”

The other man freezes. “Fuck,” he groans, dropping his head. He hesitates for a few seconds before finally relenting. “Blink. Flicker. Whatever you know him as… that’s Jimmy.”

With those simple words, Scott’s insides drop, a wave of nausea washing over him. He props himself up against the lighthouse, trying to swallow down the bile in his throat as the world around him spins. He glares up at Hawk, narrowing his eyes. “If they lay a finger on him I’m holding you responsible. You better not be wrong.”

Hawk slumps, closing his eyes. “We’re not going to let anything happen to him. He’s hidden for now, and when he shows himself, we’ll protect him.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Chapter Text

Pay the price, play the cards

If you feal in right, then kid, you’re gonna get far

The stakes are high, give it a try

Place your bets, and we’ll take you for a ride

Lost in the night

In the shimmering light

A palace of lies

Greed in your eyes

Deal into the game, and you can surely win it big

It’s your fate to choose, go ahead and lose

- Casino Royale by Derivakat

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Pearl ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Grian is panicking. Pearl can tell from the subtle ruffle of the feathers closest to his shoulder blades, the way the wings on his head are pushed back only slightly and far more stationary than normal. She could tell from halfway through the meeting just from the subtle shift of his tone, voice pitching up so slightly it wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone else… except maybe Jimmy.

What confirmed it was the way he reached back, silently asking Pearl to get them out of there. The world spins as Pearl pulls them into a small alleyway, the air around them warping with a flash of darkness. They’re not far from the lighthouse – it’s still visible on the skyline. Pearl swallows down the bile rising in her throat that always comes with teleporting somewhere out of her line of sight, no matter how short the distance may be.

Grian’s breathing is heavy as he stumbles back into the wall. Pearl hurries forward, placing her hands on the avian’s shoulders. “Breathe, G. What’s happening? Talk to me.”

“We’ve underestimated what we’re up against,” Grian gasps, clutching at his chest. He’s clawing at the fabric, long nails snagging against the tight material.

Pearl shakes her head. “We always knew it was dangerous, didn’t we? We knew the risks going in. And as much as you’re going to hate me saying it… I think we should listen to Hawk. If there are civilians at risk… we might have underestimated the lengths the Watchers are willing to go to.”

Grian takes a few seconds, evening his breathing out as he looks Pearl in the eyes. The haze around his face has faded slightly during his panic. It’s quick to materialise again, covering his identity. “I hate the fact you might be right.” He sighs, running a hand down his face. It warps strangely through the haze, twisting and bending. “Do we tell the others about this?”

“They’re going to ask,” Pearl whispers, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’m telling Gem. They all deserve to know, because what we’ve just found out… it puts everyone in more danger. I think… This is a big ask now. It’s no longer just fighting, but there’s the risk of them losing everything but then having to live through losing their identity… their entire sense of selves.”

“I’m starting to think that Jimmy may have… may have had the right idea,” Grian groans. “But Xelqua… we can’t go against him. I don’t know what to do.”

“We need to go and see if Hawk was right,” Pearl says firmly. Grian nods and the two start the short walk back to the base.

As soon as they enter the sterile hallways a swarm of people crowd around. Pearl feels as though she’s suffocating with the amount of questions thrown at her. She pushes someone out of her way, smirking when Tango yelps and stumbles away. She flares her wings out, the intricate red and black patterns catching everyone’s attention.

Silence settles over the room as Pearl lets the shadows drop from her face. Pearl can tell that Grian’s trying to hold himself tall and not show how much he’s panicking.

“I’m happy to share everything,” Pearl mutters to him, giving him the out. He nods, scurrying down the corridor as Pearl folds her wings back down, pressing them flat against her back. She pushes through the crowd of people into the living area, slumping into the soft couch. Gem stumbles out of the crowd, curling up next to Pearl, her warmth providing Pearl with a strange amount of comfort.

Everyone else takes a seat around Pearl, looking expectantly at her. Martyn’s the one who breaks the silence, voice tight and croaking as he narrows his eyes. “So what happened that got Grian so worked up?

“Hawk and Myriad were there,” Pearl starts. “They revealed this weapon that the Speakers are developing. People that are higher up than the team we’re used to – probably the same ones that dealt with Ren.”

Ren stiffens in Pearl’s peripheral vision, ears pressing flat against his head. He’s still wrapped in bandages, but is looking better than before at least. Martyn stands from his spot on the floor, perching on the edge of the armchair and wrapping his arms around the wolf’s shoulders. “What’s this weapon do?” he prompts.

“Hawk used the words null. It’s designed to disable abilities – hybrid and powers. Permanently.”

There’s multiple gasps and uncomfortable murmurs around the room. Ren’s the one who seems to have any sense, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Wouldn’t that give us the upper hand? They’re setting us up if they’re telling us.”

“No,” Pearl shakes her head. “Hawk overheard a conversation – the Speakers are going to use the weapon when it’s ready even if there’s Speakers in the area… even if there are civilians around. They don’t care anymore about keeping the public safe.”

“So now we have the upper hand,” Gem says. “We know about this weapon and to avoid it, and we’ve got no reason to betray our own team. Right?”

“We don’t even know when they’d use it but… there’s been reports of missing civilians,” Pearl whispers, the temperature in the room seeming to drop. “And they’ve been traced back to the Watchers. If that’s true… there’s a whole new level to this operation than we realised. We make sure we don’t put civilians in harm's way when possible – we don’t seek them out at least. Our whole mission is to take down the Speakers and the Concord.”

“We don’t know anything for sure,” Grian says, all eyes darting to him as he enters. Pearl notices the way his hairline is damp, probably from splashing handful after handful of cold water across his features. He’s pulled a large red jumper over his head, hair ruffled and a few feathers sticking out at the wrong angle. “We need to take a closer look. Hawk said to meet him again in three nights time.”

Everyone nods slowly before Joel nods. “So what do we need to do?”

“Nothing,” Grian responds instantly. “I’m not asking any of you to do anything. With this null weapon… this is a new threat that’s making me think Jimmy had the right idea.” The tension is thick enough to be sliced with a flick of a butter knife but Grian ploughs on. “If anyone has second thoughts I won’t cover for you. I’m making that much clear, but I’ll help you get out. Find Jimmy and get you somewhere safe and away from this new danger.”

There’s silence. No one takes him up on the offer. Pearl knows she won’t be putting her hand up. She’s terrified of what’s to come. Every time her mind drifts to what’s to come, her heart starts racing and her mind goes foggy, but she’s stood with Grian since they were five and first being indoctrinated into the Watchers. She’s not about to leave his side now.

Martyn clears his throat, wings ruffling slightly. “As much as I hate the idea of possibly having to work with the Speakers, if either side is doing anything that harms people who didn’t willingly choose to be involved in this we need to get to the bottom of it and do something.”

“So you’re all on board?” Grian asks slowly. A nod is passed around the room. Grian visibly deflates in relief, wings sagging slightly. 

Joel’s jaw flickers as he clenches his teeth. “What do you need us to do?”

“That door that’s locked,” Grian says. Pearl knows the one – it’s hidden behind a bookcase in the living room, stuck closed no matter what the team tried when they found it all those months ago. Xelqua said it was an old escape route that was sealed up when it was compromised. They’d all believed them.

It clicks in Pearl’s brain. “We need to get through it.”

Grian nods. “There’s no exit in the alleyway outside, so it’s not just an exit. It goes down lower. If we want to unravel the secrets connected to this place, then we need to see what’s being hidden underneath this operation.”

“I can probably get us through if we find a scanner,” Ren says. Tango holds up his hand, disappearing in a blur and reappearing only a few seconds later with a large piece of paper and some markers.

He scribbles along the top with a purple pen, the writing so messy Pearl can hardly decipher it.

“We need to keep some people up here to make sure we’re not caught. We don’t know if Zed will be on our side and X probably won’t be. And if Xelqua or any of the researchers come through, the whole heist could be up,” Tango explains. Pearl nods along, sliding off the couch to look at the plan.

“Gem and I should go in. I can get us out in a hurry and Gem can camouflage us at least momentarily,” Pearl says. She hates the idea of sending Gem in there, but it’s necessary. She’ll be there to protect her if she needs to.

Joel clicks his tongue, looking at Grian. “You can’t take Jim’s power can you?”

“Not without seeing him. I struggle to mimic your guys’ powers when you’re just around a corner,” Grian sighs. “But if I mimic Martyn’s and he comes with us we can communicate without needing the comms. A slight whisper and we’ll hear each other.”

“I’m coming too,” Ren says forcefully. “There might be other scanners once we’re down there and G can’t take my power as well.”

Pearl rolls her eyes. “No one was going to ask you to separate from Martyn, don’t worry. So long as you’re not going to collapse from injuries down there.”

There’s a yelp of surprise from one of the two men but Pearl’s too busy hiding her smirk to pay much attention. She notices the way there’s no denial from either.

“That leaves Joel and I for distraction then,” Tango declares.

The planning continues, more notes scribbled across the paper. Pearl, Gem and Grian will split off from Martyn and Ren to explore faster if they need to. Gem’s taking her comm with her to call for help if entirely necessary, but it won’t be turned on just in case. 

“Destroy the evidence,” Grian orders once everyone knows the plan from memory. Tango takes the paper between his fingers, heat shimmering off his skin. The edge of the paper glows orange before bursting into flames.

Tango drops it onto the concrete floor, panting as the heat dissipates from around him. Within a few seconds, all that’s left is a pile of ash. Joel waves his fingers, a gust of wind throwing the ashes into the air.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾✩☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Pearl’s hands shake as she glances around the group. She’s donned a black hoodie, the garment feeling like a strange replacement for the red cape she normally wears. They need to be as stealthy as possible though.

Ren pulls a stack of books off the shelf, revealing a small black screen indented into the back of the bookshelf. Tango had found the scanner only a few hours before and it had been a scramble to go as soon as possible. They needed to act fast – they were due to meet with Hawk in less than a day now.

There’s a shimmer around Ren’s features as they morph and stretch, reconfiguration as Xelqua’s hooded figure. The scanner flashes green and the bookcase swings outwards with barely the sound of air. A shadowy path stretches beyond, twisting out of sight.

Ren gasps as he drops the disguise, rubbing his head. “Fuck it hurts to morph into them.”

“Hopefully we don’t have to do it again,” Grian states as Martyn helps Ren from his knees where he’d fallen. 

“Be careful down there,” Joel says, handing a flashlight to Pearl. The bookcase closes with a soft click behind them, shadows and darkness throwing Pearl off balance despite the haziness that comes when she views things in the dark, moth abilities helping her sight greatly. She clicks the light on the torch, casting a dull glow over the fusty passage.

Grian studies the dust and cobwebs coating the corridor. “There must be another way down to wherever we’re going. This probably got abandoned when we started living at base part time.”

The only sound that echoes is the soft sound of footsteps, the hum of the flashlight and the occasional clang of metal on metal as Martyn shifts his wings. He’d been told not to overdo it with the prosthetics, but Martyn was nothing if not stubborn. The corridor slopes down, winding around to the point Pearl can no longer tell what direction they’re facing. 

It’s half an hour before they hit a wall, their pathway abruptly stopping. No one speaks as Pearl casts the torch light around the space. Her eyes snag on a small handle, dust almost completely concealing the trapdoor.

“We’ll have to be silent once we open that,” Grian whispers, voice almost lost to the space. There’s a small pulse of purple that Pearl assumes is Grian mimicking Martyn's power. She pulls her hood up, allowing shadows to shroud her face. The rest of the group quickly conceals their features, despite knowing it won’t do much if they get caught. It might buy them some time at least.

The trap door groans loudly as Grian pulls it open. Both the avian and Martyn clamp their hands over their ears, backing away slightly. Gem darts forward, grabbing the trapdoor before it can slam shut. A small amount of light floods the area. Just enough that Pearl can flick off the flashlight, attaching it to her belt using a small length of rope.

Pearl’s the first to slip down the ladder, her hands steady on the shiny rungs. There’s a dull light in the room, revealing it to be far more well kept than the corridor they’ve just come from. There’s no dust on the floor and the corners are free of cobwebs. 

Ren lands next to Pearl, stumbling slightly as he lands. Pearl catches him, tilting her head. He shakes his head, pointing at his side where his previous injuries had been. She nods, helping to steady the other man before turning to the ladder.

Martyn is next down, landing a lot more gracefully. Grian drops down next, wings flaring to slow his descent.

There’s a creak as Gem closes the trapdoor behind her, quickly dropping to the floor after. Grian raises his hand, pointing forward. He takes the lead, starting down a new corridor. This one's far brighter, motion centre lights flickering on as they move. Pearl wishes they’d stay off – she much prefers the darkness. 

This is a far shorter corridor than the previous, soon branching off, two small passages with ends in sight. One seems to lead to a large room full of blinking tech boards and forcefields. The other leads to a heavy steel door.

“Martyn, Ren, take the tech room,” Grian whispers from next to Pearl. She barely hears his voice. Martyn nods immediately, grabs Ren’s wrist, gently pulling him towards the room.

Grian leads Pearl and Gem to the steel door. It’s not locked, but Pearl assumes the Watchers never had much reason to. They never expected this place to be discovered. There’s a small window at the top of the door, fortified with metal bars and a blinking blue forcefield.

Grains swings the door open without a sound, shutting it with a thud behind him. Pearl scans the rafters immediately, sighing in relief when there’s no red blinking light that signals a camera. Grian seems to declare the new room safe, an audible noise of ease escaping his lips. “We’re good here Martyn. What have you found?”

He looks quite ridiculous speaking to the empty air. He nods a second later before quickly relaying a message. “Martyn’s got a recording device in his area – doesn’t want to risk speaking too much. Looks like a planning and programming room.”

“Where are we?” Gem asks, gaze sweeping around the room. The area is dim even to Pearl – she can’t imagine how dark it is to Gem and Grian, who have always struggled to see in the dark. She fumbles around at her belt, flicking the torch on.

The light bounces off the blue shimmer of forcefields, five on either side of the wall. There’s another door at the end of the building, similar in make to the previous one.

“They’re cells,” Grian mutters, approaching one of the forcefields. The space inside is void of life, but not empty. There’s a harsh pallet of wood with a thin blanket pushed in one corner and Pearl doesn’t want to think what the bucket in the other corner is used for. There are flecks of dried blood across the floor and pegs nailed into the wall, the gray shackles hanging from them a stark contrast from the pristine white wall.

Gem wanders to another one, placing her hand against the forcefield. It pulses blue, spreading a bit more light while Gem keeps contact with it. “They’re all cells. Are any of them… occupied?”

Pearl hands the torch over to Grian, taking the far corner cell. It’s in an equal state to the first one, but still unoccupied.

“Got something,” Gem calls, voice loud in the enclosed space. She’s standing at a panel on the wall by a cell, her figure illuminated by a pale blue glow.

Pearl peers over her shoulder, biting her tongue to hold back to gasp at the sight.

Subject 013: Dream Walker

Previously Known as Bek Yamon

Currently in testing

This cell looks far less abandoned. There’s a plate of half-eaten brown mush on the floor and the blood flecks on the wall are far more vibrant. Grian looks at the next cell over, tapping the screen to bring it to life.

Subject 014: Temperature Tolerance

Previously Known as Cherri Fire

Currently in testing

“What is this?” Pearl whispers, swiping across the screen in front of Gem. More information flashes up – health readings, records of heart rate monitors, numbers that mean nothing to Pearl.

Her eyes catch on a chunk of information.

Readings detect Subject 013 is unable to walk in dreams for longer than ten minutes at a time. Its memory is patchy after regaining consciousness but it is believed a simple serum will improve memory capability.

Gem pulls out her phone with a shaking hand, camera clicking as she takes a quick picture of the screen. Pearl drifts to the next screen, tapping it. She winces as the light blinds her momentarily. When the words come into focus, her knees go weak.

Subject 011: Implementation Experiment

Previously Known as Sausage Myth

DECEASED

Subject 011 perished during testing of implementation serum. It was hoped that this experiment would prove successful in giving a power not previously held by a being to someone. More subjects will be needed to test further adjustments to the serum.

Pearl beckons Gem over, letting her take a photo. “They haven’t just been testing on civilians,” she whispers, voice wavering. “They’ve been killing them.”

“They’re coming back,” Grian says suddenly, wings flattening. “Martyn and Ren are going. There’s someone in the tech room now with a civilian.”

“Shit,” Gem whispers, stuffing her phone into her pocket. Grian flicks the light off, passing it back to Pearl who clips it back on her belt.

Grian dives for the door, pushing it open. Gem scrambles out, pushing herself against the wall. Pearl’s the last out, grabbing Gem’s wrist and pulling her in close as Grian shuts the door.

“Do your thing Gem,” Pearl whispers, hearing footsteps get closer. Gem nods, grabbing Grian and pulling him behind her. She closes her eyes and the world starts warping around them. They’re tucked into an alcove, just out of the passageway and completely backed into a corner. There’s a swirl as Gem rearranges the air around them, a few mirror images of the wall starting to conceal them.

Pearl bites her tongue, willing her breathing to even out as the footsteps round the corner. There’s a cloaked figure, a purple hood draped over their face and dropping to their feet. White wings trail after them and glowing purple eyes seem to blink straight at Pearl. They don’t stop though, continuing towards the door.

Someone is stumbling after them, arms shackled at her waist by sturdy gray manacles. Her auburn hair is a mess, a scar tracing over one eye. She stumbles, barely catching herself on her wrists.

The chains tug, the Watcher growling. “Keep up 014.”

Pearl’s mind is cast back to the cell, the glowing name blinking in her mind. Cherri. As the other girl pushes to her feet Pearl glimpses her wrists, one covered in angry red boils and the other a deep bruised purple.

The door clangs shut behind the two and Gem falls forward, dropping the illusion from around the group, panting only slightly.

Grian waves his hand frantically, starting down the corridor. Pearl wants to barge into the cell and free the girl. She knows she can’t when she’s this unprepared. Martyn and Ren are already waiting at the top of the trapdoor, closing it as soon as Gem’s through the gap.

“Go,” Ren hisses, pushing Pearl in front of him. She flicks the torch on, the light bouncing across the walls as the group sprints back through the corridor. Pearl’s panting from the uphill climb by the time they’re at the top of passage.

They pause at the bookshelf, Grian’s hand against the handle. Gem catches his wrist, flicking her comms on. “Are we clear?”

The bookshelf swings open immediately, Tango and Joel pulling the group through the doorway and into the living room. The door’s slammed shut and the books are placed back against the scanner.

“Were you caught?” Tango asks immediately.

Ren shakes his head. “Close, but we missed them. But there was so much… holy shit do we have a lot to tell you.”

“And that will have to come later,” Grian pants. “We need to meet with Hawk dangerously soon.”

“I’ll come too,” Martyn says. “There’s… something that I need to fill both sides in on now.”

“You’re not going to go rogue?” Ren asks, raising an eyebrow.

Martyn stiffens slightly. “No. I’ll wait for G to give any orders before attacking. I wish I didn’t have to go and face them, but you’re still injured.”

Ren doesn't look like he wants to let Martyn go. He grabs the other man’s hand, pulling him in so their foreheads land against each other. Pearl can vaguely hear them murmuring but can’t exactly make out the words. Martyn goes to pull away and Ren places the softest kiss on the corner of his lips.

Pearl shoots a look at Gem who’s grinning gleefully. She’ll get the details out of Ren while they’re gone. Pearl won’t be in the dark for long. She sighs, turning to Grian. “We need to go. Quickly.”

Grian nods, turning to Pearl. “We might need reinforcement. Any chance you can bring Tilly?”

“If we’re fast we can stop by mine,” Pearl replies, shrugging her jumper off. She snatches the red cloak off the lounge, feeling far better with the comfort of the heavy red fabric against her shoulders. There’s a tickle in her hair as the antenna springs up from where she’d flattened them in her hair to allow the hood to be pulled up.

The cape drapes past her ankles, wings breaking through the river of red and flattening against the velvet fabric, adding intricate patterns of swirling colours to the clothing. Grian grabs his own cloak, flinging it over his head. He flares his wings, maneuvering them through the hole designed for them. There’s a flash and his face is covered in a purple haze, features obscured. A black vignette appears in Pearl’s peripheral as the shadows creep across her face.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ Scar ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“I’ve found him,” Scar pants, grabbing Myriad’s shoulder. The poor man had just walked through the door, not even clocked in yet. “I’ve found Jimmy.”

Myriad’s shoulders tense, halo flickering dangerously dim. Scar closes his eyes before he sees anything. “Take me to him.”

“I haven’t seen him yet. Actually, to say I found him is a bit of an overstatement, but I know where he is. Kind of. Well, I know the people he’s with. I th-”

“Hawk,” Myriad interrupts. “What do you know?”

Scar sighs. “He’s with the Fringe. I saw a slight change in the air this morning when I encountered Nyx. It makes sense – they’re both from the Watchers, previously.”

It had taken some digging, but Scar had managed to find traces of a Watcher known as Comet, who disappeared off the face of the earth seemingly for months, the Fringe appearing in her wake. 

“So we stage a bait,” Myriad determines. “The Fringe seems to show up whenever they see either us or the Watchers. I’ll show my face around and we just wait for one of them to show up. Ask to speak with Jimmy.”

“You think it’ll work?” Scar asks uncertainly.

Myriad shrugs. “One way to find out. Not like harm will come of it if it doesn’t.”

“We should go then. We’re meeting with Bird tonight – we’ll want to find Jimmy before then,” Scar sighs, nodding his agreement. 

Myriads halfway out of the building before Scar can start coming up with a plan. He groans, readjusting his mask quickly before trying to catch up to the other’s pace.

“I think we need an actual plan,” Scar huffs, just making it through the door before they hiss shut with a clang. Myriad glances over his shoulder, his steps barely faltering.

He rolls his shoulders, turning back to the street ahead of them. “I prefer a little something called winging it.” 

“Since when are you the impulsive one?”

There are a few heads turning, which is always bound to happen when wandering the street in broad daylight. A few people look like they want to start swarming the two heroes, but luckily the street is fairly empty. Scar does end up cut off from his pursuit after Myriad, doing his best to suppress the groan when a child runs up to him, a comic book and pen in her hand.

Scar does have to admit he loves interacting with the general public when he can. He crouches down, holding his hand out. The little girl squeals, pushing the book and pen into his hand.

“And what’s your name?” Scar asks, fumbling to open to the first page of the book. He can see what he assumes are the girl’s parents behind her, phones trained on the interaction.

Her cheeks go red and she seems to shy away slightly. “Bungie.”

“Well Bungie,” Scar says, scribbling away on the comic. “Do you want to be a hero when you’re older?”

The little girl nods, smiling widely. She’s wearing a loose white shirt and her hair’s pulled back into a bun. The loose pieces that Scar can see are a deep, electric blue and if Scar squints he swears he can see small blue wings tangled in the strands, barely developed past the length of her ears. She wouldn’t be more than twelve years old.

“And what can you do?” Scar asks gently, signing his name off on the book.

Bungie holds out her hand. “Not much,” she says, but her hand still glows slightly a small vine wrapping around her wrist before wilting and crumbling to the floor. For someone that young, it’s still an amazing display of power. Scar hopes the Speakers and Watchers alike don’t clock on to it.

He smiles warmly, closing the book and handing it back. He notices the drawings on the front cover, a crude and overly exaggerated image of Scar and his team fleeing from an explosion. A laugh is barely suppressed, the smallest breath escaping from his lips. “Well maybe one day I’ll see you again.”

Bungie smiles, leaning forward to wrap her arms around Scar’s waist. Her father jumps forward, grabbing the young girl’s arm and pulling her away. “Sorry,” he mutters. Scar waves him off, patting Bungie on the shoulder and waving as she’s pulled away by her parents.

“Powers are becoming more frequent in civilians,” Myriad mutters, scaring Scar. He hadn’t realised the other had stayed around.

He shrugs. “So long as they’re weak they’ll be relatively safe.”

“That wasn’t a weak power there and you know it,” Myriad returns. Scar opens his mouth to reply but doesn’t get a chance.

There’s a shout from behind him followed by the light of the alleyway being sucked away. It seems the bait had worked perfectly. Scar hates that Scott’s idea of winging it actually worked.

“Clear the street,” Scar yells, holding his hand up to help direct civilians to the nearest exit. Once he’s sure the street’s been cleared, Scar pulls his bow out. He can hear movement in the darkness, his eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden drop in lighting. He leans his head to the side, using his shoulder to hit a button on the edge of his visor.

Colours fill his vision, heat signatures dancing across his field of view. There’s two that he can see, besides from Myriad’s next to him. He knows Nyx is here somewhere, the shadows her calling card. The other heat signature possesses wings, narrowing the other person down to be either Aquila or Halo. There’s a strange blur of the signatures behind them, shimmering in the darkness. Scar doesn’t pay much attention to it.

He lowers his bow slightly, clearing his throat. “We don’t want to fight you.”

The shadows recede slightly, Scar’s vision clearing. He knocks his visor again, the heat signatures flickering off. Nyx and Aquila are standing before him, a trident and spear in their respective hands.

“What if we don’t want to talk to you?” Nyx questions, head tilting to the side. Shadows radiate off her body.

Scar lowers his bow, letting the arrow go loose and drop to the floor. He sees Myriad lay his sword down on the ground, holding up his hand. Aquila and Nyx share a nod before lowering their own weapons slightly, but not quite laying them down.

“We just want to talk to Blink,” Scar says, taking a tentative step forward. Nyx shakes her head aggressively while Aquila falls back slightly, mouth moving but her words indistinguishable to Scar.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Nyx responds sharply, taking a step forward, trident rising. It lowers a second later, the woman falling forward as if by some force unseen to Scar. He narrows his eyes, spotting the space where the air shimmers only slightly, barely visible to anyone else. 

Scar takes a slow step forward. He can hear the voice now. “It’s okay, Nyx.”

He recognises it instantly, smiling slightly. Nyx sighs, twisting her arm to slide her trident into a holster between her shoulder blades. “Let’s go then.”

Scar looks over his shoulder at Myriad rather uncomfortably. “I don’t think I’m meant to bring others back to the Head Quarters.” 

Nyx practically growls, shadows rising around her. The air shimmers again and Jimmy appears, wings ruffled but otherwise fine. He holds his hand out, muttering something under his breath to Nyx before walking towards Scar and Myriad.

Nyx and Aquila stay back, slowly retreating into the shadows. Scar doesn’t miss the way Nyx bares her teeth at him before she disappears.

“Where have you been?” Scar asks, catching up to Jimmy and Myriad.

Jimmy shakes his head, glancing around the street that’s already starting to fill with more people. “Not here.”

The three walk in silence for only a few minutes before Myriad places his palm against a scanner, the door to the Head Quarters hissing open, shutting as soon as Scar and Jimmy are through the door. 

Scar leads them into a small room, the walls lined with boxes and dust. The lights flicker, a stark contrast to the pristine and surgical feel of most of the Head Quarters. Myriad swings on one of the boxes, Scar leaning against a rack of small crates.

Jimmy stands awkwardly in the corner, shifting his weight from side to side. “Sorry I disappeared.”

“What went wrong?” Scar asks quietly. “I thought the Watchers had managed to get you.”

“They almost did,” Jimmy sighs, running a hand through his hair. “They would’ve if Surge hadn’t seen us and followed us. He really pissed off Bird getting me out but then Aquila and Nyx showed up. I’ve been with the Fringe, trying to work up the courage to come back. It’s about time.”

“Are they still listening?” Myriad asks, Scar’s heart stopping when he remembers the device.

Jimmy shakes his head, holding his wrist up. It’s free of the metal circlet now. “Surge managed to fry it. Came right off once the tech had broken. Bird’s definitely even more pissed at me now but he was already pissed enough.”

“Are you still going to fight with us?” Scar’s voice is barely above a whisper.

Jimmy shrugs. “I don’t particularly want to face Bird or Echo or anyone right now. And I owe my life to the Fringe, despite Nyx saying she’s just repaying an old debt.”

Curiosity tugs at Scar’s brain but that’s not what’s important right now. “We’re meeting with them tonight.”

“The Watchers?” Jimmy asks, eyes widening.

Scar nods. “We’ve met with them once already. You’ve missed a lot. I discovered this weapon that nulls abilities for lack of a better word.”

The more Scar explains about his finding, the faster Jimmy’s breathing gets, the wider his eyes go, the more ruffled his wings get.

“I’m coming with you,” he finally states, shoulders pushing back.

Myriad shakes his head instantly. “Absolutely not. If Bird is as pissed as you say he is, you're not going anywhere near him.”

Jimmy crosses his arms stubbornly. “I’ll stay invisible, but I need to hear what’s being said. If the Watchers and Speakers are meeting, the Fringe needs a representative there. I’ll relay important information.”

Myriad looks like he wants to argue. Scar cuts him off, raising his hand as he speaks. “You’ll need to stay hidden the entire time. We’d rather not have to fight, but it is smart to have backup where they can’t see it.”

“Fine,” Myriad says, the sound of his teeth grinding together audible even to Scar.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾✩☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The trip up the lighthouse is as boring as it was the previous time. Scar decides that the lighthouse won’t collapse with a bought of energy. Myriad flits around their heads as a small falcon, unnaturally white with a blue shimmer.

Scar makes sure to avoid the broken rung that remains from their last trip, looking back to watch Jimmy do the same. Scar rolls over the edge of the ladder, hearing a ruffle of wings and footsteps as Jimmy pulls himself over.

Scar pushes to his feet, coming face to face with Bird, who’s just landed on the windowsill. He hears a crack as Myriad turns back to his normal form, a ray of light dancing across the room, the shadows of antlers creating strange patterns across the walls.

“Hope you don’t mind we bought another,” Bird grunts, stepping out of the way. Portal lands gracefully, a wolf leaping from her arms and standing behind her legs, seeming to grow to twice the size she was previously. There’s the sound of metal against metal as a third figure enters, black scales mingling with shiny steel as Echo lands.

Scar tenses but steps forward, dipping his head. “Not a problem. You should’ve sent a message and we would’ve bought our own backup.”

Scar’s not worried about being able to beat them in a fight if it came down to it. They’d have the element of surprise with Jimmy.

“Did you look into what I suggested?” Scar asks, leaning back on his heels. His fingers itch to wind around the handle of his bow.

Bird nods, glancing at Portal. “We’re going to join you. And we’re going to share what we’ve found.”

A sigh of relief almost escapes Scar. He remembers not to show any form of weakness. “Do begin.”

Bird nods and Portal steps forward, leaving her scythe leaning against the wall. Tilly growls as the moth steps forward but stays put. She pulls her phone out, placing it on the floor. “Vision had the foresight to take some photos of what we found. Echo and Flux went to a different area. That’s why he’s here – we haven’t heard everything yet either.”

Scar realises that this will be Echo’s first time seeing this as well, if Bird’s to be believed. Scar’s got no reason to not believe him right now.

Portal crouches, tapping a few buttons on the device. It springs to life, a hologram bursting into the space before them. Scar squints, examining the image of what looks like a screen. It looks to be mounted on a blank white wall, but everything is tinged a pale blue from the hologram. Scar bites his tongue when he reads the words on the screen.

Subject 011: Implementation Experiment

Previously Known as Sausage Myth

DECEASED

Subject 011 perished during testing of implementation serum. It was hoped that this experiment would prove successful in giving a power not previously held by a being to someone. More subjects will be needed to test further adjustments to the serum.

Portal swipes across her screen, the image flickering to another screen. Another screen goes by before an image of a cell appears. Despite the blue tint, Scar can make out the speckled blood. 

“They’re… testing,” he whispers, leaning forward to examine the picture.

Portal nods sadly. “There’s more though. Bird thought to film this while we were hiding from a Watcher.”

A video starts playing, at first just a bleak hallway. A hooded figure comes into view, incredibly distorted and hazy as though completely warped in the filming process. A girl trails into view, the injuries marring her skin visible in the video. The shackles around her wrist send a shiver up Scar’s spine. The video clicks off at the sound of a metal door closing.

“Her name’s Cherri. Is she one of the missing people?” Portal asks, scooping her phone back up. 

Myriad pulls his own phone out, hands shaking as they tap at the screen. “Fire. Cherri Fire, reported as missing just over two weeks ago now.”

“That’s our confirmation then,” Bird sighs. “Echo, what did you find?”

“Flux and I were in a tech room,” Echo says, voice stiff. Scar sees the way he sends hostile glares at Myriad and himself every few words, clearly uncomfortable in their presence. “We found these blue prints for something dubbed Project Bedrock. Didn’t get any photos but it seemed similar to that weapon you mentioned.”

“Shit,” Scar swears. He’d done some snooping these past few days and hearing Echo say that name. It confirmed his worst fears. “They’re not just similar – I found out the name of the weapon. Project Bedrock as well.”

“The Watchers are working with the Speakers,” Bird concludes, voice numb and void of all emotion.

Scar nods senselessly. “It’s going to take a lot more to take them down than we originally thought. They’re testing on civilians and–”

He’s cut off by a simple dagger flying through the air. It’s nowhere near him or Myriad, sailing right between them. Echo’s arm is outstretched, no remorse across his features.

There’s a yelp behind Scar. He turns slightly, a river of red rolling to the floor as Jimmy presses his hand against the dagger wedge solidly in his shoulder. It’s clear it’s avoided anything vital.

“You have some nerve showing yourself here,” Echo bites out, stalking forward.

Jimmy pushes past Scar, a trail of blood following him. “I wasn't exactly showing myself, was I?”

“I’ve known you long enough to tell when you’re nearby. Still haven’t mastered how to stop the wave of air,” Echo returns coldly.

He’s pulled his axe free now, lunging towards Jimmy. Myriad leaps forward, placing his body between the two men. There’s a flash of red as he raises his arm, the axe colliding with the forcefield that’s sprung from the pack on his arm.

“Direct hit. Shield at seventy percent,” the electronic voice beeps. Myriad ignores the warning, pulling his sword out and pushing it into Jimmy’s hands. He raises his arm, blocking another hit. The shield goes down to fifty percent.

Scar wants to run forward but as of right now, Bird and Portal are leaning against the wall, whispering rather loudly about who’s going to win the fight. If he jumps in they’ll be forced into the battle.

His heart races, mouth falling open as he watches the battle unfold. Myriad continues to block blows from the axe, shield getting progressively lower. Jimmy doesn’t make any move to attack, his hands trembling around the handle of the sword in his hand. Myriad grunts, arm trembling as he struggles against the pressure that Echo’s pushing forward.

The shield finally shatters, the blue hologram-like technology fracturing and scattering around Myriad’s wrist. He ducks as the axe continues forward, only just missing him. A few strands of cyan hair drift to the ground.

Jimmy finally jumps forward, the sickening sound of steel on steel echoing around the lighthouse as sword meets axe. Echo presses forward, eyes narrowing right on Jimmy’s own.

Short and sharp breaths escape from Jimmy’s mouth as he’s pushed back slightly. Myriad’s still crouched on the ground, coughing as he taps away at the shield, trying to get it running again. 

“Just let me talk,” Jimmy grunts, glancing behind him to check on Myriad.

Echo glances over his shoulder at the same time, dropping his attack when Bird nods. Jimmy’s arms drop, sword clattering to the ground. He nods up at Echo, words raspy as he speaks. “You can attack me after, but let me explain first. You haven’t given me that luxury in six years.”

“Fine, Echo grunts, placing the blade of his battle axe on the floor, leaning heavily on the handle.

Jimmy crouches, placing a hand on Myriad’s wrist and helping him up. He whispers something, hardly audible. Myriad nods once, quickly scrambling back to stand next to Scar. He has to stand on his toes to get high enough for his words to brush against Scar’s ear. He almost misses them. “Don’t be surprised. Let them think we know his appearance.”

Scar stiffens, realising with a start what Jimmy’s about to do. The blackened wings from around his eyes retreat backwards, the charcoal colour falling away to reveal a canary yellow. He reaches up with a shaking hand, the gas mask covering the lower part of his face hissing as it’s disconnected. There’s a clatter as it drops to the floor and Scar sees Jimmy’s face for the first time.

He knew the other had freckles, but he sees that the small dusting of them is more clustered towards his mouth. While his eyes are surrounded in dark circles from a lack of sleep, Scar can see the youth that still lines his skin, only a few years younger than himself.

“What are you doing?” Bird hisses, the slightest tinge of concern lacing his voice as he pushes off the wall, stepping forward to put himself in front of Echo. “Put that fucking thing back on.”

“I’m just trying to get you to remember that I’m not the enemy. I’m still your brother, Bird,” Jimmy responds calmly, holding his hands up in a form of surrender. “I know the location of your base, and the Speaker’s base and the Fringe’s base. I can get under the radar incredibly easily – if you’re not looking for me, you won’t find me. You’re all going to need to pass off information quickly. What better way to do it than have it personally delivered by a humble civilian?”

Scar can admit he sees the merit in having Jimmy cross between bases. It saves having to organise meeting times, because he knows with certainty he’d never give up the way into the Speaker’s base and the Watcher’s would never give up their location which has been so secretly hidden.

Bird seems to be deliberating the same thing, leaning forward to study Jimmy. “You betray us and I find you. I don’t believe in second chances.”

“You’ve made that perfectly clear,” Jimmy quips, glancing at Echo who’s still gripping the handle of his axe. He tilts his head, another thought sparkling in his eyes. “One last part of this deal – you don’t leave alone with Echo.”

Portal snorts loudly, doing a terrible job at covering her laugh. Bird’s shoulders are shaking with his own laughter and even Scar struggles to contain a small chuckle. Myriad seems less amused, shoulders tense and breathing shallow.

Bird finally steps forward, offering his hand out. “Deal,” He says gruffly. Scar takes this as his chance to also step forward. Bird shakes Jimmy’s hand firmly, turning and grasping Scar’s hand. His fingers are long, cold and stiff, similar to that of a corpse’s.

Scar gets the uncanny feeling that he’s just made a deal with the devil, sold his soul away. They’ll be a catch later, some hidden bargain in the fine print that won’t be discovered until later. He just knows it, but there’s nothing he can do to turn back time now.

Portal steps up, brushing her fingers along the shell of Bird and Echo’s wings. Tilly stands behind her, paw placed on her owner’s boot. There’s a flash and the Watchers are gone, leaving Scar with dread pooling in his stomach.