https://i.imgur.com/Fe9yilS.gif

[blyat]

WHO: Cain, Markus, Fitz, Peggy, Riku, and Sora. We're doing our best.
WHERE: The Facility.
WHEN: October 12, during the sleep event.
WHAT: Continued from here. Cain went in guns blazing, rolled a crit fail, wiped out the party, and now they're going to need the power of friendship to save them.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Language, gore, disassociation/ego death, psychic death, JUST DEATH, buckets of guilt, and Disney Magic™ (including KH3 spoilers). Will update as necessary.



[The impact of their actions doesn't register at first. Due in part to the immediacy of his ability, Cain can only watch as the spear is extracted from its tangled bed of roots, blinking out of visible existence and reappearing several meters to his direct left. The weapon glints in a refraction of eerie, milky-blue underwater light. Where there would be a rush of success upon victory — moving the immovable — and where he might feel the tickle of curiosity in the aftermath, there's nothing but a peculiar emptiness. Slight and small, like he's disengaged from the part of his brain that processes raw information into higher function, a brief interim where no single thought enters his head, and he looks at his surroundings with a detached faraway appreciation. Meditative, almost, all pain and pressure from the landscape's oppressive environment gone.

And then it grows.

A yawning void eats through the peripheral of his awareness, even as he turns at last to check on Fitz and Markus. It's at that point his sense of individual self begins to slip, and the people he's looking at have no names, felt more in physical warmth and closeness. Cain extends a hand out as if to touch one of them on the shoulder — but stops, fingers spread, dark eyes lowering down to look at his own arm as if he doesn't recognize it. It doesn't feel as though it should belong to him. His gaze travels further, over limbs and torso dressed in the sleek black material of a flight suit, and that feeling of disconnect only heightens, mind elevated above the anchor of an unfamiliar body.

Slowly, gradually, another sense begins to bleed into the fine boundary of Cain's (but not Cain anymore, not Alexei, not anyone, what is he?) consciousness. Pinpricks of light at the edges of his mind, little flashes of red scales, the gauzy white outlines of humanlike shapes in the distance, and the two solid pillars of men in front of where he stands. Life everywhere. Death, too, clinging onto the dredges of what once was. Cain watches himself begin to fade from the feet up as if unattached to the process.

Death, watching Fitz and Markus now succumb to an intense and severe pain he doesn't feel at all. There's no fragment of sympathy, there's no sadness — only an impression of responsibility. The entire facility becomes a single entity stationed somewhere in his mind. And then Fitz and Markus are no longer alive, they're dead, a hot spray of blood and red guts and cooler blue mechanical shards across the surrounding area, but he doesn't feel anything beyond the understanding that it happened as the effect of a singular cause.

An imminent air of rightness overtakes the man who was there only moments ago, before he's gone, disintegrated into nothing.]

Comments

[retravel]

I don't trust either of you. [ still sharp, knowingly unyielding (and petty, to be sure). Fitz wants to vocalise where they stand, given that there's still work to be done as a team. His ability has facilitated horizontal travel between dreams numerous times before now, sideways transitions rather than plummets deeper in the unknown, so he doesn't agree with the assessment, and if Peggy weren't urging them forward, he wouldn't follow their plan — ] But I do trust her instincts.

[ And when they have little time to argue, that's enough, for both the journey outward and the revised plan to split their forces. By the time they're back in the facility, hovering among the spectres, he can stand on his own.

As soon as Peggy takes his hands, all uncertainty has gone from him. Resolve flows between them, shared goals and conviction both. ]

Hope you won't tell me off for promising we'll find our way back, then. [ muttered low, a dark joke when he's been promising not to die all damn day. He knows this is the part where they go their separate ways now, and while he isn't afraid (not of what he might find with Riku, or for how Peggy will fare with Sora), that doesn't mean he wants to leave her or divide their collective forces. ] But we'll find our way back. [ slowly unlocking their hands, he holds on until their fingertips brush and drop. ] All of us.

[ The boys with them now, Cain, Markus, and themselves. ]

TEAM HEART SCIENCE

[retravel]

[ A firm turn then, eyes flickering to Riku. Once within reach, he holds out his hand, palm up. ]

He's safer with her, anyway. [ Sora with Peggy; it's meant to be comforting. A jerk of his head indicates that they should get a move on. ] Show us your way, then. [ a beat. ] Sorry about the pain.

[ of radiated organs and exploding insides, still working through his skin. ]

[lighthearted]

[ That harsh response from Fitz throws Sora off for a good few seconds as he stares across the room at him, unsure of what to say. When they'd first met, Fitz had come across as both kind and helpful. He'd bought food for Sora and explained things to him when he hadn't had a clue of what was going on. This feels like a jarring change.

It's not something he can take to heart, though. Fitz has just been through something terrible, and on top of that, he's worried about his friends. That's probably making him lash out. Besides, not everyone comes to trusts others as easily as Sora does. He has to remind himself of that, too.

Hopefully it's something that can be smoothed over after this is done, after the others are rescued and they all make it out of this nightmare. If there's one thing that they can all agree on, it's that they will find their way back.

This is the point where they separate. Sora shoots Riku a crooked smile, something he can hope will set him at ease, before moving over to Peggy. ]

TEAM HEART PUNCHES

[lighthearted]

[ Sora lifts a hand in a brief sort of greeting as he approaches Peggy. She's going to be an expert at this by the time that they're done, and Sora can only hope she's feeling a little less panicked now that they've successfully managed to bring back one of the three who'd been lost. Especially since she and Fitz seem to be close. ]

I met Cain once, back at the safehouse. He was nice, he answered my questions and tried to explain a lot to me about everything going on here.

[ He looks up, seeing the steeliness clear in her eyes, and then offers his hand to her. Again, that empathy bond will have to be invoked. When they touch, Peggy will be able to feel some other emotions hiding beneath Sora's overwhelming optimism. There's uncertainty, after how Fitz responded to him, along with worry at the thought of having to separate from Riku.

He'll push past all of that, though. He has to.

His Keyblade appears again in his other hand, and he nods firmly. ] Just like before. Both of us need to focus on him. [ It's possible Cain will be harder to track down, seeing how they can't even find his ghost here, but Sora closes his eyes and concentrates on him all the same. On their simple conversation in the safehouse kitchen, sharing pieces of apricot.

He lifts his Keyblade, and the way becomes clear. ] Let's go.

[inherited]

[Riku wonders if Fitz's first words once it's the two of them are meant to be a slight. "He's safer with her, anyway." Her—meaning: not him. It's not like he knows. It's not like he'll ever know—how much Sora is the one person he needs to protect most. How he failed. How he can't get caught up in those feelings when it comes to not trusting himself. He has to do that—no matter what.

He feels resolved in this feeling. His gaze falls to Fitz's hand, but he steps in close instead, placing his hand on the older man's clothed shoulder. So, Fitz just took Riku's rebuke poorly. It's a bad time. He gets it. He doesn't appreciate Fitz being a jerk to Sora, but that doesn't matter.]

I'm not telling you to trust me, but we weren't demanding that of you. To get to your friend, I need you to focus on him. On how much he matters to you. I can open the door based on that, but you can't let your thoughts cloud how your heart really feels. It might lead us astray. [His voice is even, tempered. Careful. He grounds his emotions.

Then he lowers his hand from Fitz's shoulder to slip it into his hand.]

Now let's go. [How Fitz feels is unpleasant. But Riku is grounded. Focused. (Worried. Always worried about Sora. More than he'd ever care to be, because he wants there to be blind faith in him. Always blind faith. But it's harder these days. It's harder right now.)

But he can't focus on Sora if he doesn't take care of himself. So, his eyes meet Fitz's and he nods, resummoning his keyblade in his free hand.]

[retravel]

[ We weren’t demanding trust of you, he says, when his partner uttered the words, You have to trust us but moments ago. It marks an uneasy dissonance, putting Fitz on edge, when he prefers to know where he stands, always. Ultimately, Fitz won’t disregard being spoken down to, or having a potential shortcut to his friends ignored by someone overly cautious — and doubts the other will forget his defiance in turn. That’s only fair. They work and prioritise differently.

The touch at his shoulder is unexpected (and unwelcome) for someone who has made a point to say he doesn’t trust the other, and Fitz stills, watching Riku with a steady gaze. Youth doesn’t guarantee innocence, after all. And the two young men in their party have given him little by the way of answers.

But agents act without trust or affinity all the time — it’s why they’re agents. His expression betrays concentration alone (on the now and not the lingering pain). ]

[ neutrally, ] I know how to act on a mission. [ a curt nod. ] Ready when you are.

[ As if to prove his point: Once they touch, Riku won’t find anything but calm coursing through Fitz, threaded over the pain with a manufactured control.

Their professional disagreements don’t matter from then on, gone from his mind. As in all things, Fitz has a single-minded focus, shuttering out the rest of the world. And he has a staggering amount of material to draw from, when it comes to how much his friend matters to him.

Markus, bridging the gap between what Fitz wants to say and what he can. Markus, unsure how to let himself hurt in his achingly empty flat, despite how he shoulders the pain of others. Markus, trusting him implicitly in a junkyard of corpses, even knowing all Fitz has wrought with the brilliance of his mind and the flaws in his heart. (Or was it the goodness in his heart?) Markus is what it means to walk that hard way with someone, down the path so few can travel with you.

It’s easy to think only of him — to walk onward in a shaky partnership and know that the door will lead them to his precious friend. ]

[revlon]

[ Panic has no place in the field; it gets people killed. Her early days in the war taught her that lesson quickly and mercilessly and it's that same grit that sharpens her edges here — and has through this entire ordeal, beyond the facility, beyond the collapsing of the dreamscape. Anyone who knew her as a softer woman in the waking world, someone with experience but not that of a soldier's, has likely been surprised by her truth bleeding through the cracks of this place. It's not that she isn't that person but there's work to be done and no time to do it. The compartmentalisation serves her well when push comes to shove and right now they're very much being thrown into the deep end.

Once more unto the breach, she thinks as she looks from Fitz and Riku to Sora. Their approaches are different, true enough. Spies jaded by time in a world without magic (or magic that can be explained by cold, hard science) and thrust against an approach built entirely on faith and optimism which have long since lost their shine by lives lived too long in the grey. But the goal remains the same and that's what's important at the end of the day. ]

Cain and I arrived in New Amsterdam together, [ she tells her partner on this odyssey as she takes his hand. The bond reflects nothing but her iron focus and professional calm. Something else buzzes beneath, but it's just as neatly controlled. If she senses Sora's uncertainty, she will offer a tendril of steady support. ] No matter how difficult this is, we'll find him.

[ So she closes her eyes and focuses on that first, intense memory: not the disorientation of stumbling off the bus, blind under a hood, marched through the underground. But the way Cain had gripped her shoulder in the dark, her only anchorpoint in a new and unfamiliar world. How urgently they clung to each other until they couldn't, pulled apart by the crowds. The firm reassurance they offered each other, the implicit trust formed in an instant because they had no one else.

He has no one else out there. Wherever there is. Not for long. They're on their way. ]

[saviorexe]

[Whenever they reach their destination, however the door deposits them, they find the soles of their shoes pressed upon mounds and mounds of ash.

It’s difficult to say what their surroundings used to be. Whatever skeletal remnants of this place still exist, they’ve gone grey with the weight of cinders, buried under a depth of the stuff, foreign forms rarely jutting out of the landscape like constructs of shale. Perhaps there used to be trees, branches stretching skywards towards a now-departed sun, maybe this was once a square where people walked and shopped, maybe Markus himself once took a path through this place, to a certain paint shop to pick up a certain hue of color. But if that memory once existed, it’s all crumbled into ash, turning their surroundings grey, grey, grey.

Even the horizon shows no promise of anything beyond this terrain. Only a yawning expanse of dull sky, sometimes adorned with the phantom flicker-flash of tall buildings, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it. They’ll have to tread through shifting and colorless earth, for stretching minutes, before coming across anything of note.

And what they’ll find is Markus, slumped against what looks like fallen signage (—LLINI PAINTS) that’s half-buried in dirt. He’s covered in a thin layer of ash, the build-up heavier near his legs as if this world means to eventually consume him. Eyes closed, utterly quiet, there’s no sign of movement, even if they attempt to interact with him.

It’s as if he’s just another dead object, in a world full of them.]

[inherited]

["I know how to act on a mission." Is that how this should be viewed? Riku's not so sure. He's done that himself: when it came to saving Sora when his memories were lost, he did everything in his power to approach things without too much care. He told Xion that she had stolen her memories. He convinced her to go back to Roxas, and even took the latter down. All of it felt justified: or rather, was justified, in part by thoughts and in part by actions. DiZ had convinced him that that was the way to go about it. But as it went on, Riku felt like his heart disagreed. He could see that what he did to bring Sora back was cruel.

Not that this is a matter of cruelty or not here. It's seeking out friends. But the brisk way that Fitz responds to Riku leaves him concerned. His only time out adventuring had been in Sleeping Worlds, and while he moved through them and aced his tests, Sora was gradually led deeper and deeper into the dreams, no longer transversing them but slipping further away from the Waking Worlds. Sora always had a way with people no matter what, so Riku doubts he's ever been handled this rigidly. But Riku? Maybe he just draws that out of people. He can't tell.

No matter what, he knows that he wants to help more than anything. Even if Fitz looks upon him and Sora with distrust (he gets it with himself, but Sora?—he thinks of that pause on Sora's features, the incremental surprise over someone who's been hurt, but doesn't know how to process it, only he does it seconds later because he knows what it's like to hurt).

In the end, what matters is going through that door, passing through the ash and ending up where they're going to end up. Another world in ruins. Another place that needs help. He knows that this isn't what it was like for Sora before, but he had people in his heart there to protect him (even darker, twisted versions, nightmares seeking to shield him and claim him at the same time). It doesn't seem like these people have the same thing going for them. Then again, it makes sense: their hearts can't connect the same way that they can here. If these dreams have taught him anything, it's that they allow people to manifest those connections. That the connections can be so tattered worries him, but he can't bring that up now.

No, he draws his hand back and his keyblade disappears from his hand. No matter what his head tells him here, he knows he has to follow his heart. Help. Make sure these people get back out in one piece, without it proving more difficult. Trust that no matter what, Sora will do the same. (Even if Fitz doesn't trust him to do it, he will. It's not a demand of trust, and he stands by that. They're here because they want to be, because this is what they intend to do forever, no matter what. If Riku is called upon, he'll be there to help as a keyblade master. It's in his power to do so, to help others help protect their friends.)

Even if Fitz's is laser focused on his friend to the exception of everyone else, even the boy who's there to help, Riku nods toward him. He offers a slight and subtle smile. Encouragement. They can save him. They're here, and his heart is here. They can save him.]

I'll be here as backup if needed. Go save your friend.

[blyat]

[The shift from one world to another is abrupt — as if everything's slid at an angle, spilled from the frame of a picture out onto the floor. They'll find themselves in a breezy open terrain, miles of rocky land stretched in all directions, golden beams of warm light shading the red soil. There's a nip in the air tempered by the sun's beating heat. Thin strips of white clouds are visible in the sky, casting occasional shadows across the ground.

A wasteland for several meters ahead, until something strange bisects it: green grass grows through the cracks and fissures of soil, at first a patchy interruption that soon flourishes to dominance the further out they go. Flowers have bloomed in a spectrum of beautiful blues: hyacinths in cylindrical bushels of indigo; arctic-colored forget-me-nots peppering what once appeared to be high dunes; wide mouths of lapis-blue morning glories and delicate orchids turning the whole land into a living ocean.

And somewhere in the center of it, half-buried in flowers, Cain lies on his back. His body is elevated from the rest of his surroundings by an unnatural platform among the rolling dunes. Through layers of grass, weeds, and wildflowers, this manmade structure peeks out in glimpses of silver steel beneath, a direct contrast to the wilderness that has swallowed it. The structure is a ship meant for spaceflight — grounded and far removed from the stars.

Cain is nonresponsive on the hull, dressed in pale gray civvies, feet bare of boots or socks. Fast asleep, if the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest indicates anything. Peaceful and undisturbed on a gorgeous summer's day.]

[lighthearted]

[ It's definitely a different trip from the first one, a jarring change in almost every way. Instead of arriving with a sense of dread, Sora's surrounded by a feeling of peace, of calm, of being content. There's some sign of decay where they "land," but otherwise they're surrounded with rolling green hills and a sea of blue flowers.

There's no denying that it's beautiful, though Sora can't be sure what that means. The way Fitz's dreamscape had been on the verge of collapse had somehow made more sense than all this, and Sora spends a few seconds in confused awe as he releases Peggy's hand and disperses his Keyblade.

As he's looking around, the sun glints off something metal, causing him to blink and avert his gaze for a moment. Whatever caused that, it's out of place, and that causes Sora to move toward it, one hand held above his eyes to help with the glare.

Once he's close enough that he's able to see Cain, he yells out to Peggy. ] Hey! Over here! [ Then he runs toward Cain and the ship that he's laid out on top of, skidding to a stop when he realizes that he's unconscious. Or... sleeping? He looks as calm as this place makes them feel, but that isn't right. He's like Sora had once been, on the verge of falling so far into a dream that they won't be able to bring them back.

Sora glances to Peggy, his brow knit with concern. ] We have to wake him up. Maybe we can try to use the bond. [ He pats his own chest, to show what he means. Passing a feeling across the link might be enough to snap Cain out of this spell. ]

[revlon]

[ After the desolation of Fitz's dreamscape and the haunting, clinical harshness of the facility, Peggy fully expected more of the same in pursuing Cain through the unknown. The paradise that greets them is jarring, somehow grotesque to her for how the riot of colour clashes with the wasteland, the peaceful atmosphere with the gut feeling that something is wrong. She's been to Cain's dreams, full of sleek metal and the vacuum of space beyond — as far as she knows, he's never been to an Earth like the one she knows.

This reminds her of her time in the Alps. A different war, a different place. But the similarities are striking and she brushes her fingertips over the flora they pass as if expecting it to disappear before their eyes — but it doesn't. (Real or not real?)

Like wandering the desert with Fitz, it's the piece of extraordinary jutting out of the ordinary that sets their direction. Back then, it had been the ruins of Big Ben glinting in the sun. Here, it's — a ship, she thinks. She's never seen a spaceship (been on one, courtesy of the same man they're here to find) but as they approach, it becomes increasingly clear this must be the place. It's almost too easy. Too lucky. She doesn't believe in it or coincidence. Surely there's a catch. ]

Yes. The bond is the only thing that's snapped the others out of dreams, [ she replies absently, studying the structure and how to climb it. ] Including myself. Wait a moment. [ She finds a handhold and hoists herself up onto the platform, bootsoles finding traction on the sleek hull. Once she's up and over and at his side, she can see he's breathing and peacefully asleep. ] I don't think he's hurt.

[ Not catatonic, not like Fitz was. Was it because he was split in two, his echo in the facility and his body in the dream? Why was Cain spared that fate? Peggy opts to shake his shoulder first, firm but not ungentle. ]

Cain. [ Her other hand cups his face, igniting the bond. Warmth, concern. Urgency. ] Cain, it's Peggy.

[blyat]

[Those warm threads of feeling cut through the deep, still pond of his quiet mind. It's the first substantial sensation he's felt in what must be hours. Days, months, years: time has melted into an inconstant continuum. Peggy's fingers may as well be fire on his cheek, a searing discomfort that separates the dream-like peace of rightness and serenity from the state of being in a physical body that has needs, that experiences pains, wants, forever buffeted by reality's harsh existence.

Finally, lashes flicker open and his eyes stare straight up at the open sky. The pale pink sky of Mars with a glaring sun too bright and alien to be native. What filters through the bond on his end is calm, quiet tranquility — as awareness returns to the dark color of his eyes, that peace transforms into frightened uncertainty, the swift and sudden return to the self, and then escalates to an all-consuming dread.

Cain pulls himself out of the bond, an unsteady twist that sends him rolling to one side of the hull and nearly over the lip. His hands grasp for a hold on the ship's metal plating, but he only gathers blue flowers in his hands instead. Fisted, tattered palmfuls of fragile petals.]

No. No. You shouldn't be here.

[Separated physically, he finds himself relaxing again into that vague faraway sense of peace, a glassy quality to black irises. Cain turns his head away from Peggy and Sora, sightless to both. But it's harder this time, like he's grasping at quicksand. Confusion begins to root itself deeper instead. There's nothing to tether himself to.]

What's... going on?

[retravel]

[ The second a figure comes into view, he takes off. Riku’s words are almost lost to the wind, when Leopold James Fitz waits for no man, already dropping into a kneel beside Markus by the time he says backup (field mission terminology, at least, something Fitz can abide). Riku’s strange mix of forward (touching Fitz) and awkward (standing back) may merit thought later, but for now — there’s no room in Fitz’s heart for anything beyond the rescue mission. (It’s a trait even those closest to him have found charming and frustrating in turn, that he can blur entire worlds to focus on a person). A good thing, too, when this moment threatens to send him back to an aching wasteland and a lifeless android.

Is this now? A quick glance over his shoulder at his strange watcher confirms it. Not Peggy at his side.

No hesitation in Fitz as he brushes his fingers over Markus’ cheek (still and cold, no, no, no). Can't wake his friend the same way he did, when Peggy’s touch had galvanised him. Huh. It’s only when he presses his hand to Markus neck, checking his pulse, that panic flips his gut. From behind, Riku won’t see a tell of it beyond the rigidity of Fitz’s shoulders. ]

Something’s wrong. [ No pulse. They were too slow, too late, if those boys hadn’t wasted their time. Eyes close and open. Breathe, Fitz, somebody needs you. ]

[ Without waiting for a reply, he lifts and drops Markus’ arm, limp. Only then does it click. It may be a dream — a nightmare, a realm of thought, or an unreality — but the multiverse means cosmos and order, so Fitz follows the rules of his last engagement with the unwaking. He stands, moving a steady hand to dust off the nape of Markus’ neck and check for the tell-tale burn of a ruined implant. Not a blemish there.

Fitz exhales, tension still coiled in his shoulders. This is now (sort of). The past never stays where you left it. ]

He’s an android. [ called loud enough to be heard wherever Riku is standing (if he's come closer to help or remained further back). It's the same thing he'd said to Peggy about the lifeless woman in the ruins and uttered so Riku doesn't panic over what Fitz is about to do, fingers finding the coin in his pocket. Only thirty seconds pass where he roots through memories, searching for clues on Markus' make and model from their earlier journey together (fake skin, hard plastic underneath) as he kneels beside his friend. This time, when Fitz lifts Markus' arm, he flips it over, ash momentarily clouding his vision. A cough before he squints in the fading light. Smoothing his fingers over the skin prompts it to fall away, as if melting by instinct. Only so many spots for engineers to access readily, yeah? Nothing entirely new under the sun, even in the stretch between 2017 and 2038.

An eerie stillness overtakes him, movements practised and precise, as if he's done this before. A light knock against the casing, searching for something, unsure how to bypass it until — there, a failsafe clicks and the plastic falls apart, halves splitting to reveal the circuity beneath Markus' arm. Wires and thirium-blue veins weave over and around too-white bones.

A beat before he retrieves his multitool from the pocket of his jacket, quick to flick out various tools for tweaking Markus' inner framework. The damage isn't as bad as the last android, wires disconnected and debris out of place, but not fried and shattered. Dormant. Universes from his lab, he doesn't have the electric current required to jumpstart an inorganic heart, but perhaps sparks alone could do the trick. ]

C'mon. [ uttered low and urgent, with a frustrated hitch in his breath. You can't fix everything echoes in his mind, or perhaps even aloud, in the world of dreams. ] C'mon, c'mon. [ A single spark, burning hot on his fingertips. Not enough. Not smart enough. ] Markus, [ his voice cracks. ] I can't — [ Do this? No, even if he can't, he has to. ] — I need you to wake up.

[ This time, his look to Riku gives away the pain in his chest (can't lose anything else, not today). Back to Markus, then, to try again and again. ]

[lighthearted]

[ Peggy tells him to wait a moment, and to Sora's credit, he does listen. At least, he waits long enough for her to reach the hull of the ship where Cain is laying before he follows after her. This ship doesn't look much like Sora's own, but the idea is still the same. Given that he's scaled the gummi ship countless times, he's crouched at Peggy's side within a few moments.

By that time, Cain's already woken up (except not really, because they're still here; technically all of them are still sleeping), and Sora's hand reaches out, hovering in the air when Cain manages to catch himself before rolling straight off the side of the ship. When Sora spots the blue petals in Cain's hand, his brows slant down into a frown.

They shouldn't be here, Cain says. But that applies to all of them. ]

Cain, something happened at that facility. You got lost somehow, so we're here to bring you back. Staying here...

[ Sora trails off for a moment, then shakes his head. ]

It won't lead to anything good.

[revlon]

[ He's gone from under her hands too abruptly for her to grab onto the fabric of his flightsuit, straightening from her kneeling position into a runner's start, as if ready to spring after him in an instant. Her brows draw sharply into a frown as she studies the shift in his expression; she can tell he isn't all there, that they haven't quite reached him and pulled him back from the depths even though he's right here.

Peggy glances to the flowers, to Sora, brows raised in question but she doubts either of them have the foggiest what's happening in this world. Reality is tenuous, always has been since they were dropped in here. This feels different. ]

He's right, [ she says steadily, careful to not make any sudden moves. Her hand is outstretched to Cain, either to soothe him like a spooked horse or for him to take. Both. ] You're right. None of us should be here. I don't think it's safe.

[ It feels safe. But that sets off alarm bells in her head when she remembers where Fitz was half-buried. Peggy leans forward, setting her fingertips on the back of his bare hand. The blue glow is barely noticeable under the bright sun, the fabric of her clothing. ]

Let's go home, Cain. Fitz and Markus are waiting for us.

[inherited]

[Once upon a time, there was a scientist named Ansem the Wise. He still lives now, but his history is what matters here. Ansem got tricked into researching the qualities of the heart. He hoped that he could find answers, could break down the heart into numbers and pieces of information. Sharply defined qualities. In the process, his apprentices were lost, and Ansem himself had to leave behind his life in shame. He let his stark, simple way of viewing matters of the heart lead him to being blind.

Riku knows this story well. Ansem—DiZ—is the same man who kept him focused. Who helped him reclaim his friend. Who ensured that he could see Sora again. And who accidentally brought Riku out of his prison in the body of the man who possessed him, a prison that Riku took on because he knew that he needed the strength to protect what mattered.

What he doesn't know is that he's seeing pieces of that play out here. He may not for a while, or ever—but it's obvious that Markus has slipped further away. Is it because of the hesitation? No, Riku tells himself that isn't the case. If anything, things might be worse. Fitz's return may be more tenuous than absolute, for one thing. His heart is still in danger. (Or would be; Riku assumes as much now.)

He trots closer as Fitz does what he can to bring back Markus. It makes sense if he's an android, but Riku never questions what's happening here. He never doubts the presence of a heart. In order to bring back Naminé, Xion, and Roxas, they needed to rely on data—and he'd seen enough of Tron's world (had known that it was Tron's world) to see that hearts could come in all different shapes. Ways. Existences.

It's because of that that he pieces together precisely why Fitz can't recover his heart. It's not his fault. It's just—Markus likely needs a boost. Maybe it's because of the conditions and circumstances that he does. Riku doesn't know.]

Hold on to him. I think I've got the rest.

[Riku closes the distance and crouches down. His keyblade appears in his hand, and he lifts it up, pointing it at Markus' chest. His eyes focus as a light shoots out of his keyblade into Markus' chest. Moments later, Markus' heart appears in a flash of light. It may not make sense, not scientifically, but his heart looks like the traditional drawing of a heart. Bright, a mesh of gold and silver. It's diminished at first before appearing fully formed. And then it lowers, right back into Markus' chest. Awake. A part of him again.

The bright light from the end of Riku's keyblade fades, and he lowers it soon after. He watches Markus' face, waiting to see if his eyes will open now.]

[blyat]

[Something happened at the facility.

Fitz and Markus are waiting for us.

Two sharp spoken fragments that rake away the calm veil over his mind until it returns him to clarity: final memory summoned up to remind him of what he did. The vague awareness of Fitz's and Markus' shared agony, a sense that he had a hand in it, that mountain of responsibility so heavy he looks down at Peggy's returned touch with blank shock. Cain wrenches away from the touch a second time. Stands, wavering, and tries to put more physical distance between them. A difficult maneuver on the narrow hull of a ship. His ship, he realizes. Cain's steps carry him toward where he recognizes the fighter's cockpit sits, a hatch that opens at the top, buried now underneath layers of blue and green.

He looks at Sora, registering at last. Their conversation in the safehouse's kitchen seems to have happened a lifetime ago, to someone else. He looks at Peggy, but the guilt's almost too much. Black eyes fall to his bare feet, then the flowers out over the idyllic scenery. Looking at the landscape fluttering in a gentle breeze tempts him almost to lay back down.

They've come to take him away from this place, this shelter, a sanctuary both peaceful and right, where he doesn't have to feel and he doesn't have to—]

Forget it.

[—face them. He's afraid. He wants to stop feeling afraid, but he's a coward. Always been a coward.]

I can get back on my own, just... leave me alone. I'm fine now.

[saviorexe]

[It’s Fitz who works to fix his physical body, or some nebulous manifestation of it, planted into the ash of this wasteland. An engineer’s hands lain on a broken machine, imploring plastic casing to slide away in white planes and revealing the workings beneath; the electric blue of Thirium, stilled into dullness in its tubing. An android’s infrastructure built upon a synthetic skeleton. Actuators designed down to the most precise degree of efficiency. Wires that all feed into critical components (biocomponents, Markus had labeled them before), each failed connection being connected again. Readjusted and prepped for reset, anything gone ajar made stable by Fitz’s touch, wrongness turned right, correct. Pieces slowly back where they belong, like a jigsaw puzzle sliding into place, and with a snap here and an adjustment there, forcing organization back into his frame, Markus becomes whole again.

But not functional. Sparks dance against his parts, tame firecracker bursts, but it isn't enough.

Because an android is not just a man-shaped object, made to look and act human. There's still a hollow void in his center, ripped away by a dream, requiring more than just a jolt of energy that would shake and startle his systems back to life. How does one quantify a consciousness of experiences, how do you send life surging back into a spirit, a soul, a heart?

It’s Riku who finds that part of him, forcing it to the surface, urging it into a waking state, connecting it back to some immutable part of the self that had wandered astray — cast into the sterile lights and cold waters of the facility, a ghost with regrets on repeat. And when the image of a heart recedes back into his chest, it’s like a shock runs through him. The spark that Fitz was looking for, that electric current that can now run cyclically through a fixed body thanks to his friend's harried efforts.

Mismatched eyes fly open, start-up screens flash in numbers and statistics that only he can see. He straightens, sits up in a jolt, almost knocking into Fitz — ash kicks up with one hand, clenching fingers into the ground. His other arm is still prone, still opened up and exposed, the flickering of circulating blue dancing within. His words are a strained gasp, disoriented and still hot on the heels of wrenching guilt and the remembrance of an indescribable pain.]

Why are you here? [Immediately, eyes fixed on nothing and everything, his focus a kaleidoscope that hasn’t congealed.] You shouldn’t be here.

[Why are you here, you shouldn’t be here, the spectres had said. He had said.]

[retravel]

[ The details of it don't matter to Fitz, not now, when magic is just science yet to be explained and understood (multitool pocketed, coin weighty in his coat, the potential of losing Markus heavy on his weakened frame). When Markus jolts, he leans back instinctively, trained to expect a hand at his throat or knee to the gut — but it's just his friend, awake. Whatever Riku did helped break through the haze of undeath; and that's enough. ]

Hey, hey, s'okay. [ his hand has remained tight on the wrist of Markus' exposed arm throughout the process, unwilling to let him slip through his shaky fingers. As soon as his friend speaks, he leans forward again, unafraid. His mouth quirks, an attempted reassurance. ] Markus, Markus, we're here to help you.

[ Closing the panelling of Markus' arm with his free hand, he keeps their taction constant, blue glow illuminating the ashy space between them, even in this other world, as the synthetic skin reforms over white casing. The waves of calm he'd intended to pass through their link are overridden by relief, surging in tandem with the electric spark. If fresh pain and confusion threaten to drown Markus, Fitz won't let it. They share what comes.

And for this moment alone, there's a clarity to his touch: A keen determination that cuts through volatile waters. ]

Carter and Cain are waiting for us. [ said with absolute conviction, never a doubt in his mind that the others will triumph. ] Take a breath, okay. [ Fitz brings up his hand, fingers gliding over Markus' cheek and settle low on his jaw, like Jemma and Mack always do for him — like he did for Markus in the quiet of his flat before all this nonsense. Touch has power, especially here. ] Recalibrate. We've got you.

[ At least for a minute before this reality, too, must go.

And then they can get home, not just to the underworld but to New Amsterdam proper — a place where Sora and Riku can reunite, where he himself can return to Peggy as promised, and they can know their team is safe (insomuch as they can ever be, at their unstable corner of the multiverse). ]

[lighthearted]

[ When Cain looks at him, it's almost like he's looking right through him. It really is like he's a different person, but Sora knows that can't be true. While he doesn't know what exactly happened to make Cain end up in this strange dream, he's certain that they need to bring him back to himself somehow. They won't be able to leave otherwise.

Every time Peggy reaches out to Cain, he pulls away, which means they need to try and convince him with their words. The last thing he wants is for Cain to run, lost from them in this field of flowers. ]

I don't think it works that way. Unless you come with us, you might be stuck here forever.

[ Just like Sora would have been stuck in the Final World, eventually turning into one of those nameless stars that he'd found there. Just a remnant of himself, a piece of emotion lingering in some in-between place even though his body was long gone. That's what would happen to Cain, and they can't allow that.

Sora takes a look around them, his head tilting to the pink sky. The breeze kisses his cheeks, the sun a pleasant warmth on his face. When he draws in a breath, the air tastes sweet. Everything about this place is nice, but... ]

I know that doesn't seem like such a bad thing, but none of this is real.

[revlon]

[ Where he goes, she follows. She didn't do that when they were dumped in the Insomniac's Ball and she won't make the same mistake again here. The circumstances couldn't be more different, a dark and dizzying rave and a serene meadow, but the danger is inherent in both even if it isn't in plain sight.

Peggy is right on Cain's heels, letting Sora do the talking for a heartbeat before her own words overlap. (No, none of this is real. But they are. That's what Fitz said to shake her out of the war. But there's no war here. Or is there?) ]

You're far from fine and I doubt you can get anywhere without Sora's help. [ Sharper, firmer. Not impatient, but unrelenting. Her hand catches onto his sleeve, holds fast with metal — her ability. Not getting away this time. ] You might not see it, but this world is coming apart at the seams and we are not leaving you to do the same.

[ Her free hand, still warm flesh and blood, braces itself on the opposite shoulder but lays her thumb along the side of his neck. The bond again; it's worked enough times in the dreamscape that it's the only tool in her arsenal she can rely on now. ]

So look at me, snap out of it, and get your arse into gear, Fighter. Do you hear me?

[blyat]

[He hears both of them. Through the thick gauze of half-aware, half-awake consciousness, he hears Sora tell him this isn't real and he hears Peggy reaffirm it. As if he doesn't know. As if there's some reason that isn't reassuring, being not real instead of real, because why would he want to be real? Why would he want to go back to where everything hurts, where he keeps fucking up — where he's alone, where Abel isn't — and maybe if he's come so close to that edge of a cliff twice (no, more than twice), maybe he's meant to be there. Maybe he's meant to go over it.

Peggy snags him so he can't move, and that rises panic in his throat, an upset that translates into wild anger. He's never learned another way to communicate in these high-stress, choke-point scenarios where it builds to such a volume he can't contain it.]

I don't care! I'm not going back!

[Like a cat twisting in a grasp on its scruff, Cain pulls with force that threatens to split and tear the threads of his shirt where he's caught in that immovable metal hold.]

Don't fucking touch me!

[The return to a thinking, feeling body is too much after the peace of before. Woken from the bliss of this sanctuary, he's lashing out, not himself, not clear in reason and logic, overwhelmed by the rush of reality and the reminder that whatever happened to Fitz and Markus is definitely his fault. He could have put it back. He could have stopped it. All of that blistering anger and guilt channels into the joined path of their emotions, and he wants it to stop. Hands come out to physically shove Peggy away.]

[lighthearted]

[ When Peggy grabs for Cain, it seems to be with an iron grip. No matter what Cain tries, he isn't able to rip himself free, and Sora is there to witness how quickly the interaction devolves into something violent. It's as if Cain has gone berserk, a far cry from the laidback (yet foul-mouthed) person that Sora had met before.

When Cain shoves at Peggy, that's when Sora rushes forward, placing himself bodily between the two of them as his Keyblade is summoned again, held horizontally with both hands in front of him as a barrier of sorts. ]

Cain, please, we're trying to help you! Turning on us isn't going to fix anything.

[ Sora doesn't try to make physical contact since that's only going to set Cain off even more, but he knows they need to find a way to snap him out of this. It would be easier if he knew him better, but even Peggy isn't having much luck. ]

If Fitz and Markus don't get to see you again, how do you think they'll feel?

[revlon]

[ She should have anticipated this. Cain's brand of stubbornness is familiar to her, if only because she's been known to dig her heels in at the best and worst of times too; but there's something painfully young about how he phrases his resistance, the way he won't look at her. Guilt, she realises a heartbeat later as he twists in her grip, and something far more petulant than she's witnessed in the time they've known each other. Something happened. Something he doesn't want to face. Something — ]

Cain!

[ He shoves her and she releases him before she takes them both tumbling off the ship, righting her balance by flinging her arms out. For God's sake, first Fitz (before he bolted off after Ophelia) and now Cain, when she's bloody trying to help drag them out of whatever horrific tangle they've knotted themselves into. They don't have time for this.

Sora, bless him, is trying to appeal to Cain but it's clear words aren't going to do much good if the empathy bond hasn't been given the chance to work, either. She's been in the ring with him before and the field before that, she knows how he can fight, can see he's gearing up for one now; panicked, backed into a corner, ready to lash out. They can't afford that. She straightens and cuts around the younger man with a silent apology — maybe to him, maybe to Cain, for what she's about to do. ]

Good thing we won't have to find out.

[ It's shortly said, just before she swings her elbow back and punches Cain clean in the jaw with a solid right hook. She doesn't use her ability as a kindness, but even so: Peggy Carter doesn't need a fist made out of titanium to knock a man flat on his back or close to it. Wake up. Cognitive recalibration. ]