BUT THE DOG YOU REALLY GOT TO DREAD —

[retravel]

WHO: Team Everything Hurts and I'm Dying — Fitz (retravel), Markus (saviorexe), and Cain (blyat)
WHERE: The train to New Tokyo
WHEN: 8 October
WHAT: Surprise
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Discussions of death and gore likely

[ Fitz arrives within the allotted window, roundabouts an hour after their abrupt conversation. By now, he has a few additional details in his pocket: They weren't the only ones who fell for the spear's trap, and multiple others have expressed a similar relationship to pain in the other reality. That's not nothing — but it's also not the point of this exercise. 'Course Fitz wants to establish a timeline, a working theory, causation, but what matters most is seeing Markus and Cain both in the flesh. Whole, alive, alright to an extent. Has to find them, doesn't he? He promised as much. Hell, he reiterated it to Peggy only hours ago, when he shared the network conversation between the three of them and concluded simply, I've got them.

Urgent business taken care of, and his pain is finally subsiding, he arrives at the designated train-car worse for wear. Button-down rumpled and hair tousled, scruffier than usual, as if he hasn't slept at all (or slept badly, rather), which he imagines is altogether fair, considering his last memories before waking. No doubt Carter will remind him to neaten up prior to their arrival. Can't be shabby when they meet PRESERVE or New Tokyo's Morningstar operatives. Near the back of the train, far from the dining and communal areas, the car is empty but for a couple at the front, a girl with noise-cancelling headphones in the middle, and gentlemen napping not far from the table for four where Fitz has sat himself, rucksack in the space beside him. It'll have to do, for want of absolute privacy.

Looks as though he might fall asleep, head lolling into his hand, when he spies a familiar face. His features lift then, not quite bright, but relieved, definitely. Eyes too wide, as always, scanning the other for tells of hurt. A jerky movement, as if he isn't sure if he should stand, or if he's allowed to reach out and affirm Markus' presence with taction. It's a short-lived battle, ending with his arms around the other for a hug more comfortable — and briefer than the last. Has to be that way, or the creeping unease and aching guilt will break through his delicate surface tension of calm. The bond can only be fooled for so long. ]

[ softly, as he pulls back — ] Good to see you.

[ 'Cause it is, isn't it? And that's what you say, when you've been waiting on a train. ]

Comments

[saviorexe]

[As discussed, Markus plans to meet them when the hour is up, and he's usually a patient man. But it’s telling that when the android approaches, finding himself in the right car, eyes scanning the relatively sparse area for a familiar face, that it’s been fifty-five minutes instead of sixty. That something like anxiety has stretched itself all across his bones, bringing him here those few minutes early because he needs to see the others. Know that they’re safe, that they’re at least whole if not completely hale.

Moments later and he’s caught in a hug, Markus’ breath shuddering out in tired relief. As is always the case, he squeezes tight, anchored in the presence of his friend, though the contact is short this time. Likely for the best, wanting to keep composure now that they’ve both managed to cobble together some semblance of calm. That dizzying sense of disassociation, a consequence of awakening once more in a human body, is just now beginning to be tamped down again. Markus doesn’t want to let it spill over, lest it balloon once more.]

Hey. [Once space is put between them, his own eyes sweep over Fitz's form for signs of injury, tension, anxiety. The habit of a caretaker, the strict concern of a friend.] Yeah, it is.

[Good to see him too, he means. Markus swallows.]

You’re in one piece. [And verified in person, rather through the flurry of texts over the network.] That’s all I could ask for.

[blyat]

[By design, accident, or pure cowardice, Cain is late. Only seven minutes over the hour, long enough to feel his nerves chafe at the deliberation of not showing up at all and how that might reflect both to Markus and Fitz. Maybe they would be disappointed but silent and leave him alone, maybe they would send him another flurry of messages — in the end it doesn't matter, because his boots carry him down the length of the train anyway. Tipsy from too many whiskeys with Jason and wearing the single hoodie in his pack: highlighter yellow, an impossible disguise.

To its benefit, the alcohol dulls some of his overall feeling about this situation. He crosses into the correct area and hovers by its entrance, one hand braced on a support rail, until he overhears a familiar set of voices over the quiet privacy of the car. Too low to make out, but enough to pinpoint identity. Familiar dread rises in his chest. He wonders if he'll ever stop feeling this way. Maybe it isn't different here in this city, at all.

Eventually he manages to drive himself toward the two (having attracted the couple's attention, a pair of curiously judgmental eyes at his loitering). Mood not entirely masked into calmness, he doesn't sit, instead leans against one of the vacant chairs on the aisle.]

So, we're all here and alive. Cool.

[Interpersonal conflict is not his best skill.]

[retravel]

[ When Cain arrives, Fitz and Markus have returned to their seats, hushed chatter unidentifiable. Tired and frustrated, a spectacularly unhelpful thought comes immediately: What in god's name are you wearing? But it doesn't bloody matter — their lot is as suspicious as SHIELD knocking about in hats and jackets emblazoned with their logo. All of them contained on a train (vampires and gang members, loudmouths, space cadets and ren faires) is a lost cause for subtlety.

Instead, he opens and closes his mouth, an attempt at mustering all his tacfulness. He's never been great at this, with his specific brand of relationship management saved by his ability to comfort others with a touch, rather than explain what he means. A few options for a reply spring forth, none of them satisfactory, so he slots his gaze to Markus, as if to pass the buck. Except, no, he's the one who demanded they meet here. He should ask if they're unchanged beyond the pain, if they remember those final moments or awakening elsewhere. ]

So we are. [ dragging a hand over his face, willing his expression to settle. ] That's the one good thing about this. [ then, tumbling out, too quick. ] I was — you both scared me. [ Weak. Heard in his head alone — and ignored, Fitz cards a hand back through short curls. ]

Are you alright? [ glancing between them, features too loose to be entirely composed. ] Is it just the pain that transferred over?

[ Not the voices, not the injuries, not anything else. ]

[saviorexe]

[A lingering glance at Fitz, then another rising up to meet Cain and his impossibly bright garb; the latter doesn’t look like he wants to be here, which is of no real surprise. Their brief exchange of messages over the network had already informed Markus of this much, and if he were to be honest, perhaps they’re all too weary, too messy, too raw to warrant much riveting or informative conversation. But that’s the android’s head talking, a weaker whisper compared to what his heart dictates — seeing all of them, together, knowing that they’re safe on this train careening underwater and underground to a location they never signed up for.

Markus leans back in his seat, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, but his hand drops a moment later to tend to the question.]

Just the pain, and it’s a lot better now than it was before. For me, at least.

[When he had awoken, he was wrapped up in it, almost paralyzed by both it and the disorientation. Now? It’s just a shadow, still lingering in his bones, but slowly beginning its drain.]

I— [It’s obvious, but probably still worth mentioning:] There’s still the readjustment period that comes with being… back to how I was before we fell asleep. [Android to human again, he means.] But even that feels easier the second time around.

[Thankfully? Worryingly? He's too tired to think about that right now.]

[blyat]

[What comes up first is the pain. Cain's eyes close, shoulders rounding, stiff posture leaning against the chair without taking a seat. One foot out the door, as it is. He's already held up his end of the agreement: he showed up. He offered physical reassurance that he's here, and he's alive, and maybe he could walk away and neither Markus or Fitz would stop him. The coward's way out. But that's stupid, because he wasn't even the one who suffered, so why should he cause them more trouble just to make a selfish petulant statement? Just to make himself feel better through route of avoidance?

Glancing at Markus, he's reminded of the strangeness of the dreams — how Markus was off, different, and he hadn't had the wherewithal to ask why. Feels almost like it happened to someone else, watching the Frontier break open in the atmosphere and rain down fire and metal. How much he still doesn't know about both of them — why Fitz was such a wreck in that pale sterile hallway, what they were running from on that planet of death, how it must be for Markus to have changed from an android into a human being with flesh and bones like the rest of them.

He should've had more whiskey. Cain breathes out harsh through his nose, then drags Fitz's bag off the seat and sits down with it on his lap, arms laid over top.]

I didn't feel any pain. It felt like... I dunno, everything made sense. Peaceful. It felt good, and I was part of all of it, I could sense things around me. [He doesn't look at either of them, glaring at the tips of his boots instead.] I mean, I watched you both... [Jaw clenching,] Right in front of me. Fuck, and I could've put the spear back, I knew I could 'cause I wasn't out of my mind and wasn't in pain, and I have my power. But it felt like I was doing it to you. Killing you. Like I was responsible for it.

[Everything comes out a ragged, guilty confession. Whiskey, you've betrayed him for the last time.]

[retravel]

[ A quick blink of surprise, when Cain joins them. Unsurprisingly, Fitz's instinct is to reach out, but he resists. Doesn't want to push to hard or press to close, when his friend hadn't wanted to come here in the first place. He only listens to the both of them, frown tight as Markus describes the dissociative feeling of switching bodies — and brow creasing as Cain finally explains his memories of their final moments together.

That wasn't you, he wants to say, you wouldn't, knowing he would reject it in the other's stead. He'd wondered why Cain hadn't stopped, when he cried out. Had it been too late or had he not cared? Both, of course. Never as easy as being one thing or the other.

It's fortunate that Markus and Fitz discussed this on the network prior to coming here, so Fitz can immediately connect Cain's experience to his own recollections of assimilating with the spectres, their haunting refrains echoing in skull and spilling from his mouth. Not the first time a teammate has lost themselves to an outside force (Lorelei had put Fitz and Ward both under her spell, Mack was possessed in an alien city, and even Caroline had displayed the ability to manipulate the mind, with words like instant reprogramming), but it doesn't make it any harder to hear — or less harrowing for the individual at the heart of the storm, sheets of rain eroding their sense of self and flooding them with guilt. His hand clenches into a fist, resting taut on the table. 'Course he's angry (not at Cain, but at what was done to them all). ]

[ firm, ] You may not have been out of your mind, but it sounds like something got into your head.

[ Causing the peace, even though he was aware of the dire consequences of his actions. Maybe Cain is culpable to an extent, but hadn't they all known the facility would fight back? Natural defence mechanisms. Fascinating, despite the trauma, isn't it? (No, he reminds himself, not now).

A nod at Markus. ]

We both felt ourselves shift, too. [ a pause, waving a hand as he searches for the word. ] Fading. It was like we were the same as the — the impressions of the people in the facility. [ not ghosts or spectres, thanks. ] Those scientists on a loop, saying the same thing over and over again.

[saviorexe]

[Markus places no blame on Cain, though he wonders if the young man can grant as much leeway to himself. He remembers that moment when he felt like his insides were falling apart, reaching desperately for Fitz but seeing — just so briefly — Cain; already lost to them, his mind elsewhere, his body seeming to disappear in a kinder destruction than what Fitz and Markus underwent.  Something got into your head, Fitz says, and he’s inclined to agree. Would any of them have acted differently, would any of them have put the spear back, caught in whatever peaceable thrall Cain was wrapped up in?

They all knew the risks of what they were doing, even if they were nebulous dangers at the best. If there was blame to place, it rests on all of their shoulders as far as Markus is concerned.]

As if we were them. [—Markus supplies, continuing.] Lost our own sense of self the moment we… disappeared. Which makes me wonder at the connection between all of this; us, the spear, the specters. Just what all those regrets of theirs were really about.

[Markus idly flexes a hand, curling his fingers inwards. Feels the bite of nails as they dig into skin, the tautness of muscle, the crimp of skin. Stay anchored, keep recalibrating.

To Cain, scrutinizing, curious, and still very much concerned—]

Did you… “go” anywhere, after you disappeared?

[blyat]

[Cain looks down at his arms, hanging over the bag in his lap, bright yellow sleeves all the way down to a pair of fingerless gloves. The comparison of experiences helps him to understand what, exactly, happened, and there is some suggestion of deeper meaning. If that was a real place — in their minds, yet nonetheless corporeal enough they could interact with it — what did it mean for this world? What did it, those spears, the specters, the oneness of that strange facility?

Something got into his head. He's never felt anything like that before, becoming a sudden passenger of his own head. Cain rolls the joints of both thumbs against closed eyelids.]

Yeah. It was this big open field covered in flowers. I think I was back home, it just... looked different. Changed. [Thoughtful for one still moment, he adds,] Flowers don't grow like that on Mars. And I didn't want to leave, it was so peaceful. Peggy had to knock me out of it.

[Another moment, and Cain lowers his face into his hands.]

I'm so fucking sorry. Shouldn't have even bothered messing with that shit.

[retravel]

[ As ever, Markus teases clarity out of his half-finished thoughts and helps construct a path forward. A connection between everything makes something click, in his mind. Not just the spear but the coral and barnacles, masking (protecting?) flesh and blood. (Did you doom them? Clever hands, impossible to disarm, slicing open a drowned world. Don't.)

The rest of Cain's story slots neatly into place, oppositional to what he and Markus felt (in agony to the last and lost somewhere ruinous). Why had their experiences been so different? Even if Fitz had angered some otherworldly force — what could Markus have done?

As soon as Cain apologises, Fitz acts, hand braced on his shoulder first, a reassuring squeeze. ]

Hey, don't do that. [ cutting him off before he spirals; it's what his better half would do, if she were here. ] It's not on you. We all knew it was dangerous. [ No, they didn't. Pain, Fitz had anticipated. Nothing like the disintegration of the self and irradiation of the body. A furtive scan of the area shows that the couple still watches them but remains too far to hear their conversation.

He makes a point to hold their gaze, and they glance away. ]

When I told you both about the coral and barnacles, how it hurt me to hurt it — that wasn't the only thing of note. [ he swallows. ] Under the wall of sea life, [ his grip on Cain tightens, though it's Markus he looks to now, mouth twisting. ] there was a mass of human flesh. As if it were melted together, preserved beneath the outer layer. And still bleeding.

[ Well, it bled when he cut into it, too, like an absolute madman. ]

[saviorexe]

[When Cain’s head dips into his hands, Markus’ empathy makes his chest tighten, and he swallows thickly. Beyond a retelling of what the other had undergone — something so utterly different than their own awakening in ash, he wonders why that could be, what was the critical factor that drew the line between the two experiences? — the android focuses instead on what's clearly ringing out: guilt.

He wants to erase that, reassure him, just as much as Fitz is eager to do the same. Offering reassurance before self-deprecating thoughts, or worse, the what-ifs, came into play.]

He’s right, you know. We all knew there were risks, and I don’t want you blaming yourself for what was ultimately a shared decision. We’re here now, together, and we’re safe. [For the time being, at least, not knowing the long-term risks of losing one’s sense of self, melded into a singular sameness, in that unending dream. But such doubts don’t belong in a moment like this, in which Markus only wishes to provide certainty and comfort, even if he has to wring it out of every passing second.] That’s all that matters.

[But then there’s what Fitz goes on to explain — more than just barnacles, but human flesh, melted together and bleeding? Something sinks in his stomach, and Markus reminds himself to breathe and feel the sensation of air filling his lungs as he meets his friend’s gaze.]

Why would there be— [Human remains, a layer of flesh and tissue beneath the outer layer? A baleful thought presents itself in his mind before he can finish his question.] —remains. Of others, you think, who might’ve once… been there, like us?

[Died, like them?]

[blyat]

[They both move and speak to assuage his guilt, words and brief touch like a balm over the still-raw wound, and Cain leans greedily into it. He even slants his body under Fitz's hand to lean against one shoulder. Only for a moment before he withdraws, straightens, focuses on the connection of ideas spun out by them both.

The most terrifying part of all of this is that he's never felt anything like it before. Never felt so out of control, so foreign to himself. Fitz's description poses almost no horror to him — because there's little of that place that would surprise him now. Not after feeling it, experiencing it, being it.]

Failed experiments? Those creepy figures looked like doctors.

[His mind's hung longer on that idea, harbored it inside himself. He feels more like an experiment after waking up on this train. That veil of normalcy ripped away, reality tilted and abstracted, what's real and what's not — up for question.]

It's just... hard to shake how it felt. I mean, all of it too, not just what happened in that place. [A dark-eyed glance between the two of them, who both visited the landscape of his world. No doubt they traveled to a number of others as well.] Is that shit gonna happen again? Are we just getting played around with?

[retravel]

[ Markus puts it better than he ever could: Together, safe, little else matters. ]

Like us.

[ Fitz has floated grand theories to Markus before now, sat at opposite ends of the axis of this reality: Cosmos or chaos? Is there an order to this world, driven by the actions of mad scientists and the engineers of a better tomorrow? Or is it chaos, an endeavor gone wrong, tearing this reality down with it, or perhaps even the natural deterioration of the multiverse? Could be anywhere on the line, really, sliding between the opposites. Maybe it started intentionally and spiralled. Fitz knows how easy it is to lose control of what you've built, after all. ]

Failed experiments. [ a nod, as he leans forward, voice low. A light tug on Cain's arm asks that he does the same — and provides an excuse to stay close to the other, following their rocky journey into each other's minds. ] Or successful ones, [ a sharp tip of his head to go with the disapproving click of his tongue. ] for those inclined to consider their findings worth any cost. [ The height of human achievement, indeed. He knows that thinking: You have to believe you're doing the right thing, no, the great thing for humanity, when you're willing to sacrifice the very humans at the heart of it. ]

But I don't know that it's as intentional as playing anymore. [ he releases Cain to retrieve a coin from the zipped coat of his pocket, balancing it on the table beneath his pointer finger. An American quarter, minted in 2511 but reading 1994. He was told it was good for solving stubborn problems, after all. ] There's an element of instability, [ he pushes the coin flat on the table with a satisfying clink. ] has to be, particularly if what's being said on the server now is to be believed. Actions in the other reality [ he rebalances the coin, flicking it from one hand — ] have impacted this reality, [ — to the other. ] so they're linked. Not one-for-one, of course. An earthquake there could be a mere aftershock here. [ picking up the pace, ] And no one could know how we would act, under the ever-shifting circumstances — we're wild cards, even if we've been put in the game for higher purposes. [ he seizes the coin. ] So accepting that it's likely uncontrolled phenomena, much like the weather abnormalities in this world and our very corporeity, as we flicker in and out like screeching canaries in a coal mine —

[ a half-breath, needed after he whizzed through that theory. ]

Definitely happening again. [ he reaches out to nudge Markus' hand, calm in his veins despite his conclusion. ] But next time, we'll be ready.

[saviorexe]

[It’s instinct that has him echoing the way all of them draw closer, angling themselves in a slight lean that keeps their conversation close, private. A togetherness that acts as an anchor as they delve into theories, uncertainties, possibilities; for Markus, at least, there’s comfort in the closeness, despite their minds still feeling wracked, or maybe because of it.

And then there’s a glint of silver, something small and round, minted 2511 but stamped with 1994.

(A gift to Fitz, he remembers. Connor had told him so, though he had never seen it until today. Markus had asked about the coin once, its meaning to the other android — he was met with an earnest smile and an explanation about recalibrating, focus, and a demonstration. A similar object, round and flat, manipulated with deft fingers, moved from hand to hand, flicked back and forth. Fitz is doing the same thing, explaining, earthquakes in one world and aftershocks in the other, screeching canaries in a coal mine—)

Markus straightens, erasing that closeness, like drawing away from a flash of heat, utterly unprepared for the flickering silver. But to his credit (just breathe, recalibrate), he does nothing more than that. Only allows a muscle to work across his jawline, drawn taut.]

…This “higher purpose” must be worth it. We’re all just unpredictable variables, some of us not always working in tandem with each other. [He crosses his arms, presses fingers tight against the fabric of his sleeves.] High risk for a high reward — who’s to say that we’ll achieve whatever it is they’re seeking to do?

[Falling into android-stillness, he adds:] If there is a next time, discussions on how to approach that world need to start early.

[blyat]

[Keyed into the physicality of their nearness by instinct more than self-awareness, he lets Fitz lead him in, he lets himself give into the urge of closeness — and he feels the sharp pulling away of Markus' movement. Dark eyes rise in a quick glance, but he's too bound up in the words they're both saying to linger. He seems to need every mileage of thought to hook each sentence and process it. The fluidity of Fitz's quick-minded theory makes that difficult. Maybe it's a lack of intellect, maybe it's a lack of practice or experience, but he still manages to miss most of the point being made. Frustration pinches along his brow.

The rest he can get from context and sentiment alone, as well as Markus' explanation that follows. Listening to them converse brings some meager clarity. And it's easy to admire how their minds work, going to places he'd never wonder. What to do next. The necessity of preparation.]

I don't get their motivation at all. What's the point? The tech alone's gotta be crazy — whatever it is they put in our chests, that makes us different. [Cain slumps backward in his seat, consciously forcing himself to relax the white-knuckled grip he has on Fitz's bag.] ... and when we got back, the monster attacks were gone in New Tokyo. Probably saved a lot of people, huh. None of 'em even remember.

[Briefly thoughtful, and then more direct:] So what's the next move? After we get back.