A Lullaby For Gods Chapter 126

CHAPTER FOUR: WOULD YOU LIE WITH ME AND JUST FORGET THE WORLD?

THE LAND OF SNOW AND STARS

Time actually passed in the cabin – on the planet, in fact – and so without the advantage of existing in a place outside of it and being able to interact with any point in time that they chose, Kankri Vantas, Orphaner Dualscar and the Handmaid slept in the lull of activity that was waiting for Nightwalker’s dead contacts to get back to him. There were plenty of them, he’d said, scattered in dream bubbles across the universe; dream bubbles which were all just as massive as individual planets, so it would take some time for anything substantial to come back.

By the time Kankri woke up, seven hours later if the clock above the fireplace was accurate, Nightwalker was sitting by the window with the ghost image of Sabera Leijon, her memory box opened on table beside them.

Kankri rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up from where he’d been lying down on the couch, eyeing them.

“The Heir of Blood was always a weird guy, but I can only give you the perspective of someone who worked with him, you know? He never opposed our session since we created his in the first place,” Sabera said to the Knight, sighing.

Nightwalker nodded, though he did so with a frown. “It’s…understandable. However vile he is, self-preservation still has a place in his mind.”

“I think self-preservation is the only thing that’s important to him.” Sabera snorted.

“True. That besides, I think the fact that you worked with him for years gives us an advantage since you can provide some insight on how he works.” Nightwalker’s gaze flickered to Kankri momentarily, and he raised a hand to greet the boy wordlessly. Sabera, following his line of sight, waved at him as well. Kankri raised his own hand in greeting but said nothing else.

“What did he do this time?” Sabera asked, voice weary. “We’ve just arrived here at the cabin.”

“\You’re going to have to take up the timing with him,” the man said, chuckling.

Sabera sighed, slumping over. “Fine. What did he do?”

“One of the displaced souls who was fated to die and go to the Knight of Light’s dream bubble for protection has gone missing,” Nightwalker said. “Kankri found something that might be a lead, but it’s confusing us since we don’t know where she is, but we know that she is now apparently biologically connected to the Heir of Blood.”

Sabera frowned. “How so? I don’t remember the Heir of Blood having some secret affairs – I’m not sure the man is even interested in any.”

“I don’t know. Apparently it’s like if ‘two things were clobbered together when they didn’t start out that way’,” he said.

“Like a bloodleech?” Sabera turned to Kankri. “It’s something the Heir of Blood makes from his magic and blood, but most of the substance comes from the person’s being.”

“Not…exactly?” Kankri hopped off the couch. Nightwalker pulled out one of the empty seats as he approached. “The way it’s connected is different.” He paused. “You know how there’s several ways to stitch something together, but in the end, they’re all sewing stitches?”

“Yes?” Sabera tilted her head.

“It’s like that. Things can be connected but the way they’re connected is different. Or at least, it looks different to me,” Kankri said. “When I look at bloodleech infections, the connection is almost seamless, because as you’ve said, most of the substance comes from the person’s being. When I look at biological connections like myself and Karkat Vantas, it’s like the thread never stopped with me and instead continued on to him. Likewise, with combinations like Jade Harley and Davesprite, it’s like two pieces of fabric stitched together tightly to form one functional object.”

“And what does Jaeger’s connection to the Heir of Blood look like?” Nightwalker asked.

“All three of those at once,” Kankri said. “Most of it looks like her, but at the same time, it’s like two things stuck together – they’re just stuck together so well it’s almost seamless.”

“I see.” Sabera leaned back in her seat, quieting.

“And you never saw this before?” Nightwalker asked.

“I wasn’t paying much attention to her since I was never brought in with anything that had to do with her,” Kankri said. “But from what I could see from Dualscar’s connection to his dancestor, I don’t think it was like that before.”

“So their death triggered it.”

“I don’t know.”

“You haven’t heard anything back from the dead, right?” Sabera turned to Nightwalker.

“Not yet.” Nightwalker said, glancing at the dumbwaiter hiding the pneumatic pipes. “Though if something triggered this connection to the Heir after Jaeger’s death, I’m not even sure if they’d be able to recognize her.”

“Should we be talking about him like this?” Kankri asked.

Both adults turned to him.

“The Heir of Doom and the others made a point to keep nearly everything about the Heir of Blood on a need-to-know basis with everyone, save for myself – and I suppose the Handmaid before we left, and Dualscar now, but I think half of what he knows are conclusions he came to himself.” Kankri glanced over to the loveseat where Dualscar was currently asleep, one arm shielding his eyes from the dim lighting of the room. “He’s a cognitohazard, isn’t he? So is it safe?”

“We have a Moon with us,” Nightwalker said. “So we have some degree of protection but…yes, perhaps we should refrain from discussing him so openly when it’s not just us.”

“I’ll be fine,” Sabera said. At Kankri’s confused look, she waved to herself. “I’m just a memory, remember? I’m not a whole person. That besides, I don’t think he’s particularly inclined to attack someone who’s partially responsible for his existence. I can talk shit about him all I want.”

“Do you know anything useful then?” Nightwalker asked.

“Well.” Sabera leaned her forearms on the table, frowning down at it as she thought. “I know the Heir of Blood is able to force connections – he can use bloodleeches or he can possess people.”

“That’s happened before?”

“Yeah. Especially if they seek out connections with him. He can meet them halfway and kick them out of the mental driver’s seat. How do you think he possessed the actualHeir of Blood?” Sabera said. “It’s why he had to offer a deal. The original had to meet him halfway, and then he bridged the gap.”

“I think Jaeger was too dead to make a deal,” Nightwalker asked.

Kankri wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“She was,” Nightwalker defended.

“There’s also the possibility of a bloodleech,” Sabera said. “But, like you said, too dead to be of any use.”

“What about making connections with the dead?” Kankri asked. “We all know the Heir of Doom deals with the dead all the time. Is there any chance he does the same thing?”

“He has, actually, but it’s weird.” Sabera sighed. “Everyone in my session went godtier, but we almost didn’t make it since the Prince Regent – Triton Peixes, I mean -  kept sabotaging our attempts to play the game properly. So what the Heir of Blood did was start collecting sprite kernels for emergencies.”

“…collecting them?” Nightwalker raised an eyebrow.

“He would prototype them once with blood. Like – bloodleeches are creature make-spells, right? He can make shit out of that. So he would just toss these formless little blood things into it that would go berserk any time Triton sent any of his agents in. If one of our bodies died – dreamself or physical, he’d toss it in,” she said. “It’s why some of our team members were nigh indestructible. It’s very hard to kill something that you can’t hit because it just melts into blood and reforms itself again.”

“And your final boss?”

“Also egregiously powerful, but it balanced out,” Sabera said. “Klaria Vantas was a successful self-protoyped sprite. Her dreamself got assassinated so it got prototyped along some of the Heir’s magic. She’s a Rogue of Blood, but her abilities cross over into Heir territory sometimes.”

Kankri glared down at the table, silent, while Nightwalker hummed. Was it possible, then?

“But Jaeger got displaced into an angelfish,” he muttered. “Right?”

“Last I heard, yes. I don’t think even the Heir of Doom knew where her body was,” Nightwalker said. “Unless something changed – or if the Heir of Blood found it first before they did.”

“If someone with a bloodleech found her body, he would have found out,” Sabera said. “Those little things are like spy cameras for him.”

“Wouldn’t the Seer of Void be able to catch that?” Kankri turned to her.

“The Seer sees into the universe he’s looking at, Kankri, not everywhere else. He’s not omniscient.” She paused. “But…if he did see it and did nothing, then there’s every possibility that this was inevitable.”

The woman sighed, putting her face in her hands. “I don’t know. I’m not sure. You know how the Heir’s team operates, they always…keep so many things a secret.”

“And they are fallible,” Nightwalker said, voice quieter than his usual volume. “I respect them dearly, I truly do, but I don’t agree with every decision they make.”

The three of them sat in the lull of their conversation, each of them burning a hole into the wood of the table with conflicted, stormy glares.

“In any case, if the dead don’t have anything for us, then…” Nightwalker paused again, and then sighed. “Then, we’ll take matters into our own hands and find out what’s happened. We’ve been left with the prerogative on what to do, after all.”

“Yeah…” Sabera said weakly. She ran a hand down her face and sighed. “God, this is a mess.”

#

JANUARY 21, 2014

NIGHT VALE

It was a lovely day – the sky was clear, there was a gentle breeze blowing by, they were all safe, and the sunrise was as loud as it had been the morning before.

If Hal wasn’t already waking up from his scheduled sleep mode, the damn noise probably would have done the job – an impossibility, but with this weird ass town, it seemed like it could happen. If it was weird enough to stop the flow of communication despite the fact that they had towers, it would be weird enough to somehow give him human functions.

Angeles’ room was unlocked, but they weren’t in bed, for once. The kitchen had been used (there were freshly-cleaned dishes being made to dry) but they weren’t there either. The dogs were already awake, a few lounging around the living room and a couple running in and out the open front doors.

Angeles wasn’t on the lawn either.

Maybe in the backyard. Best to check there first before he spent an hour trying to find them in this large as fuck house.

Luckily, the back door was open by the time he’d found it, and he could hear voices coming from in from outside. Through the doorway, he could see the two figures sitting in the lush field of grass (how fucking huge was this estate? The biggest thing Hal remembers seeing in terms of living space was the ocean around Dirk’s apartment and they didn’t exactly own that), one with snow white hair and the other with brilliant, firetruck red.

He paused by the doorway, hiding close to the wall in case either of them turned and saw him.

“ – think you’re thinking too inside the box,” Ruben said. “Aren’t you always known for taking risks? Gambling on possibilities?”

“Well, yes,” Angeles said with a little laugh. “But I think this time, the scope is far too big for me.”

Oh. They’re talking about whatever the little shit has been planning.

And Ruben knew.

“That’s a first. You never back down from a challenge.” The boy snorted.

“If I were older and smarter, sure, I wouldn’t have.”

“Okay, straight-A’s.”

“Shut up. Standardized tests are shit when it comes to measuring intelligence, you know that.” Angeles laughed again. “Part of knowing how to gamble is choosing your games, you know? You have to know when to fold or else you lose for real. My older self can probably think their way out of this, but I don’t think I can.”

“Isn’t folding losing?”

“Not really. Sometimes the game is just posturing – a game of pride, shall we say – and if you push on when you know you can’t do it, you’re just baring your insecurities and incompetence for the world to see. Then you lose for real,” they said. “What’s that quote? Something about wisdom being knowing you know nothing – some dead guy said it.”

“Socrates.”

“That’s the bitch.”

Hal snorted. On the field, Ruben chuckled.

When he calmed, he was silent for a minute. “Are you sure you’re not just folding because you’re tired?” he asked eventually.

“That too.”

“I see,” Ruben said. “So it’s the martyrdom complex again.”

“I do not have a martyrdom complex.”

“Sure you don’t,” Ruben said. “You’re using your status as the Anathema Point as the excuse to lie down and die. You think that because you’ve been given a heavy burden that requires you to die, you can finally stop and give up. And you don’t get to feel bad about stopping and giving up, because in your head, you’re doing something good. You’re saving people. You’re being a martyr.” Another pause. “You want an excuse to die.”

Angeles said nothing for a while.

“We’ve talked about this,” they said.

“You said if something were to hurt you, you wouldn’t stop it, yeah,” Ruben said. “I know. But this time you’re glad that it’s compounding with being able to save the world.”

“You sound mad.”

“I am livid,” Ruben said, and then sighed. “And I’m angry that you waited this long to tell me what was going on.”

“Sorry.”

“But I forgive you, I guess,” he said. “I don’t – I don’t want the last thing you remember be us fighting.”

“…so you’re okay with it?”

“No. Don’t mistake me wanting peace between us as compliance. I’m not signing off on your bullshit suicide mission.”

“You’re confusing me, Ruby.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Ruben said, quieter this time. “And I’m mad that you’re telling me now when everything’s gotten this bad. But I’m not really mad at you, I guess – I’m just…sad that you’re sad. I’m angry that I can’t do anything. I hate that this isn’t something physical we can easily fix. I hate the universe for making you some death-god-chew-toy thing.”

They laughed. “Well, we can’t really choose what we are with this whole cosmic bullshit.”

“In a better life, there wouldn’t be any of this cosmic bullshit at all,” Ruben said. “We would just be a bunch of normal, unremarkable kids, in a normal, unremarkable world. The universe would not be ending, and we wouldn’t have to be a part of this massive, convoluted chess game.”

“But this isn’t a better life.”

“I know. It’s why I’m angry,” Ruben said. “Because I don’t think you really want to die. I think you’re trying to look for reasons why life is worth it and you’re not finding anything. I think you’re tired that your life isn’t better, so you want to start somewhere new.”

Angeles laughed again. Hal chanced a peek past the doorway to watch them lean back on their hands and turn their gaze up to the sky.

“That’s…pretty accurate,” they said. “If everything were…calmer. Quieter. Slower – I think wouldn’t feel this awful.”

“We can try to find a way, you know?” Ruben said, turning to them. “That’s the thing about time – it keeps moving forward, regardless of whether you want it to or not. And it washes away all the old things in your life, to the point where sometimes where you are becomes unrecognizable. Maybe, if we keep standing in the currents, it’ll wash away all the turbulent shit and we’ll find ourselves in stiller waters.”

“Heh. Erosion, huh?”

“Yeah. Sometimes things breaking apart under age and force isn’t so bad.”

Angeles hummed, nodding to themself. “I’m sorry, Ruby,” they said. “I did try to think like that, you know? But if I kept at it, then I would have been scared for my life, and I would have fought to stay alive – and I can do that, but the thing is that I can’t really find the energy to wail against my fate.”

Ruben was silent.

“In another life,” Angeles said.

Ruben nodded. He raised a hand to pat Angeles’ hair, before wrapping his arm around their shoulders and giving them a side hug.

“Is there anything I can say?” he asked.

“A lot. But even if I wanted to stay alive, things are…I don’t know. They’re getting worse.”

“And if we can find a way to bring you back?”

“If there’s anything left of me, we’ll see.”

“Okay.” Ruben pulled away from them to press a kiss to their hair. “We’ll find you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

Ruben snorted, pulling away. “Have you talked to the others yet?”

“Cecil and Kevin were here earlier, actually,” they said. “Eugene and the others were too.”

“Ah, that’s why I got Leon sneaking out the house early.”

“You didn’t tell them you all told us to come here, did you?”

“And give everyone a panic? Of course not,” they said. “They’d think I was dying.”

Ruben smiled, but it was stiff, and his brows furrowed in concern.

“Thanks for talking to me, Ruby,” Angeles said.

“…yeah.”

Both of them stayed like that for a few more minutes, before Ruben eventually walked over to the fence and vaulted over it, heading down the road for his own house. Angeles settled down on the grass, lying down and looking up at the sky. Once Ruben had been gone for more than five minutes, they raised their voice.

“Are you going to keep hiding there or what?”

Hal stepped into view, not that Angeles even got up, and stepped onto the back porch. When they did nothing else, he padded onto the grassy yard, sitting down beside them.

“So is that what you’re doing today?” he asked. “Getting your affairs in order?”

“Can we not fight today, please?” Angeles asked. Hal turned to them – the dark circles under their eyes had worsened, and they looked like they could barely keep their eyes awake. “I just want to talk to people.”

He paused, studying their tired, weary gaze.

“Okay,” he said, lying down beside them to stare up at the sky.

‘Talk’, they’d said, but the next fifteen minutes or so were completely silent; Hal kept looking over to them to see if they’d accidentally fallen asleep or not.

“Sorry for snapping at you last night,” Angeles said.

“Sorry for yelling at you.”

They hummed in response. “You feeling better today?”

“I think I should be the one asking you that.”

“Well, I’m feeling kind of okay,” they said. “What about you? I feel like I’m singlehandedly the source of all your stress sometimes.”

“It does feel that way sometimes, yes.”

They chuckled softly.

“Why are you going around just talking to people?” Hal asked.

“I feel like I just have to,” Angeles said. “Just in case.”

“Are you lying again?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re right, I might end up hating you,” Hal said.

“So soon?” They smiled. “I was hoping for it to sink in after maybe a few weeks, not this early.”

“Can you just tell me something honest, please,” Hal said. “I’m just tired of all this secrecy when I’m supposed to be the one looking after you.”

“Can you let me look after you just this once?” Angeles asked. “I feel like you need it.”

“I’m a robot. I don’t.”

“Kinda feels like you do.”

Hal quieted.

“I was made to help,” he said. “And sometimes I fuck up more than I help.”

“I don’t blame you, you know,” Angeles said. “If anything, blame me and my original counterpart. They decided I’d be the universe’s hatesink and I’m just taking it.”

“I am kinda mad at you,” he said, pausing again. “But – yeah, I don’t really blame you either.”

“Thanks,” Angeles said. Hal turned on his side, watching them as they continued to stare up at the sky, gaze far away. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”

“I know.”

“Don’t forgive me,” they said. “Get mad. Get really mad. Get angry to the point of hatred, and then forget me and move on, okay?”

They turned to him, smiling brightly despite their sickly pallor.

“I want you to be happy. Don’t wallow in the grief of something you couldn’t have stopped.”

“That’s asking a lot of me,” Hal said.

“I know,” they said. “But you’ve always been one of the best when it comes to rising to challenges. You can do it. I know you can.”

“You would rather I hate you and forget you than grieve because – ” He stopped, looking away.

“Yeah,” Angeles said. “I’m used to having everything awful coming my way, Hal. If it means you’ll have an easier time, then hate me and forget me.”

He took a long, long while to answer, not meeting their eyes as he did so. “You gotta know how to pick your battles,” he asked. “That’s what you said earlier.”

“Yeah.”

“Then I don’t think I can do that,” he said. “Hate you and forget you just so it doesn’t hurt, I mean.” Another pause. “And if I do, it is going to hurt. A lot.”

Angeles smiled softly, bringing a hand up to his cheek. “You’ll be okay, Hal,” they said. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

They pat his cheek before taking their hand back. “Enough with this gloomy shit though – can you do something for me? I think I’m too tired to walk anywhere.”

“What is it?” Hal sat up.

“I forgot to tell James I needed him to come over too. Can you go over to the Palmers’ to tell him? I don’t need him accidentally telling the others in case they find out I’m talking to people individually.”

When he hesitated, Angeles sat up, laughing.

“Don’t worry too much, you big dork, it’s just more of the same I talked to you and Ruben about.”

“Fine,” he said, standing up. “Get to bed if you’re too tired.”

“Will do,” they said as he started back for the house, since it was easier to navigate to the Palmers’ through the main road. “Hey, Hal?”

“Mm?” He turned back.

Angeles smiled. “See you when I see you, okay?”

“…yeah.”

They lay back down as he made his way into the house and out the front door, making sure to put his shoes on lest he walk the slowly brightening streets in only his socks. He wouldn’t necessarily be bothered by the rocks and the dusty path, but people would look at him weird, and the whole point of his chassis being so ordinary and human-like was so he blended in with the humans. Reviewing the recorded data in his storage, he started off for the Palmers’ house, keeping an eye on the window that was flashing the now-perpetual OBJECTIVE IN DANGER alert that had turned to white noise for him weeks ago.

The town was peaceful, a good place to lay low in the meantime while the world went to shit. Sure, communication was limited which meant that everyone was essentially isolated, but that meant that they were away from S.H.I.E.L.D. should the organization come looking for them, and there was a possibility that the fluctuations of space and time for the town made it possible that the shitshow going on with the rest of the world spared them all from it.

It was a safe space for the weakened Anathema Point, and an even safer place for the rest of them.

A safe place for all of them.

Hal stopped walking.

Of course the little bastard would hide everyone they could away. They left New York the ability to communicate and took everyone they could with them without raising suspicion to their weird, strangely-removed-from-reality town. Whatever their reasons for leaving everyone else, something must have come up, because Hal’s almost sure that they’d done the trip here on purpose just to keep people safe. It made sense, even if it was an incomplete theory.

Which meant he had to get back to the house now – they’d sent him away for a reason too, he’s sure –

The window showing their status disappeared.

Hal faltered, eyes wide, and then, he ran – as fast as his legs would take him.

The front door of the estate smacked the wall as he shoved it open, the noise loud enough to spook some of the dogs indoors, but he ignored them all and ran to the back of the house, sprinting out of the still-open back door. He could still see Angeles, lying down on the field right where he’d left them, sleeping on their side.

“Angeles,”he called out before he even got to them. He dropped to his knees (painfully – though with the constant enhanced perception he’d had over the last few days, he could almost ignore it now) and shook their shoulder. “Hey.”

No answer. He shook them again.

“Angeles, wake up, something’s wrong,” he said. And when they didn’t move again, he said, “Hey, you’re actually scaring me here, wake up.”

Angeles stayed still, eyes closed, still sleeping on their side; they looked as ridiculous as they looked comfortable, wearing pajamas and sleeping in the middle of their estate’s huge backyard.

“Angeles,” Hal said, insistent. “Wake up.”

And still, they did not move.

Hal stared at them, at the way they were unnaturally still, and thought that maybe, just maybe – he was definitely not imagining it – they were still breathing. Their chest was still moving. They were just asleep, just very deeply.

He stayed there, on his knees, just watching them, before eventually placing two fingers on their neck.

“Wake up,” he said, “Wake the fuck up.”

Angeles did not wake up.

“This isn’t fucking funny, get up.”

The body did not answer.

Hal moved his hand, because surely the new almost-constant state of enhanced perception was just fucking with him and that’s why he couldn’t feel their pulse, instead turning Angeles slightly so he could place a hand on the left side of their chest, right where their heart would be.

(Angeles reaches out, leaning forward, bridging the gap between them. Their hand – their injured arm – reaches for him until they place their palm right over where a human heart would be in his chest cavity. He can feel their pulse, in the absence of his own heartbeat. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump – )

Nothing.

There was no heartbeat.

Hal sat there, staring at the body which refused to move despite how much he watched it. Slowly, he wound his arms underneath Angeles’, pulling them close –

(“Hal?”

“Hm?”

“Have you ever had a hug?”

He raises an eyebrow. He’s never had a need to.

“No.”

“Come here, then.”)

– into a hug. Still, the body did not move, and its heartbeat did not return.

Hal held it – them – sitting there silently in the beautiful, quiet field. It was a lovely day – the sky was clear, there was a gentle breeze blowing by, they were all safe –

And Sapphrel Angeles was dead.

#

???

And in the wake of the Anathema Point’s death, in the weakness of the universe, John Egbert awoke to a silent battlefield. He sat up, adjusting his glasses as he blearily looked around at wherever the hell he was. There was a small puddle of teal by his feet, so he stood in a panic, turning to where it was coming from –

He tried not to retch.

Lying down on the ground a few feet away from him was the dead body of Terezi Pyrope.

She looked like she’d collapsed while writing something on the ground, and as John hazarded getting near the body, he saw that she had in fact written something on the ground in blood. The writing looked familiar, in fact – familiar enough that he knew exactly what they were for.

Keys to help him time travel and change the timeline, she’d told him when they’d last spoke. TH3R3’S NO PL4C3 L1K3 HOM3. They would be instrumental in allowing him to create a new timeline in place of their dead one.

But he’d made their new timeline, even if they ended up in another universe anyway because of a rift. He’d already done it. It was finished.

Turning away from the body, he looked around – there was some lava pit here, a collapsed building with – oh god, those are Jade’s red shoes sticking out from underneath. Oh god. Oh god.

John flew up, as high as he could to get a better vantage point, because it couldn’t be. He was far away from here. This timeline was defunct.

But as he flew up into the air and looked down at the scene in front of him, at the bodies littered on the ground, the familiar scene that only he and Roxy had managed to survive, there was no denying the truth rising in the muddy waters of his thoughts, like the bile rising in his throat.

He was back.

He was in his original, dead timeline.