In The Morning I’ll Be Better (Descendants of the Trio AU)

“It’s fine.”

It’s hard to trust, after The Wormhole.

Hard to trust others when you’ve faced harm and death from them, over and over again, and they have no idea what they’re even capableof doing.

Hard to trust the world around him, when even before he had full-on Multiverse Attacks he would have spells of confusion, of being lost, of thinking he’s meant to be in one universe and not understanding the one he’s actually in.

Hard to trust himself,when he’s not always sure he’s the right him.Sometimes he’s from a universe where everything’s meant to be black-and-white, and the colors hurt his eyes and overwhelm him. Sometimes he’s from a universe where there’s only woods and woods and woods and trees and trees and trees and his only instinct is hunt.Sometimes he’s from a universe where he’s putting up plastic in an apartment while the owners are out grocery shopping, holding a knife with dried blood on it between his teeth as he works.

But those aren’t right. They’re him, but not him.They’re split off, like trying to print something over and over, but the ink cartridge is low or the paper is crooked and the copy isn’t quiteright. Time after time it’s printed, but the copy never matches the original, until they can’t even really be called copiesanymore, they’re something new and different entirely. Just with a few… connective tissues, leftover from the original document.

They aren’t the same thing. But they all came from the original, and there’s some of each not-quite-right copy contained in that first that existed.

And they can come through. Either tearing, ripping,all the wrong universes trying to fit into his, the only part of his universe thin enough to allow it his own mind and body, or they bleed through, ooze into his life in little ways that don’t sink in until he realizes that doesn’t quite fit.

“It’s fine. I can handle it.”

But there’s a constant. An unmovable, unwavering constant that he can always rely on. The Captain. Always the same, no matter the universe, always the same. And they can take his hand, or grab him by the shoulder, and help ease him back to where he’s meant to be.

The really bad attacks didn’t happen when he had them. Only the confused moments, the mornings where he woke up in what felt like the wrong bed, or the middle of the day when suddenly he couldn’t remember how to navigate the colony. And they’d be there, easing him back to the universe he belonged in.

He doesn’t have them now.

“I’ll be fine, don’t- don’t touch me.”

Because his asshole uncle, or whatever the fuck that Actorcounts as in this fucked-up family tree he’s found himself throw into, took them. He took The Captain, and Space tried.God, the tried to save them, but that awful place, that awful room,it ate away at him, dug into the deepest parts of his mind and pulled up something he’d rather had stayed down, and then it had started, the ripping,the other universes collidinginside of him-

And then he’d been running, leaving, escaping, without them. They’d been left behind, trapped behind some shattered mirror with that demon-

And he’d gotten stuck in a strange mansion in the past- his past, but someone else’s future, if that even matters now, it’s sometime in the 2st century at least- with a bunch of strangers.

A thing calling itself ‘Dark’ that’s apparently his actual biological father, the reason the multiverse attacks even afflict him, the problem inside his veins. An even stranger man who values death even less than Space and The Captain did at the height of their wormhole shenanigans. A former prisoner and son of that death-oblivious man, and the three sons of the asshole who stole his Captain.

All three of whom seem to have no fonder feelings for Actor than Space himself does.

But how can he be sure that’s real?

He doesn’t have The Captain anymore. He doesn’t have his rock, his Constant, his tie to his own reality, not one some fractured piece of him is living in.

“It’s fine. In the morning I’ll be better, okay? Back off.”

It’s not easy, recovering from the multiverse attacks. It doesn’t just confuse, it hurts.It’s a strain on his body as much as his mind now. It’s like that old, old book he read once in history class, what was the quote? Thin, like butter scrapped over too much bread?

He can usually feel one coming on. Until he can’t.

“Oh, shit. Is he okay?”

“He’s just… sitting there.”

“Guys, move- oh, god, I don’t think he’s conscious.”

“You’re not a doctor. You’re a dater.”

“Yeah, well, you look at his eyes and tell me he knows what’s going on right now.”

“But he’s told us he’s- … Fuck… … Illinois, help me lift him.”

“You don’t even like this guy.”

“I’m not going to leave him here drooling and half-dead, though.”

“I thought youse was all about leavin’ people behind.”

“What, did they bitch to you about that? You’re a prison therapist?”

“Hey, maybe we can do this afterwe get him to a bed?”

“Right, right.”

He’s vaguely aware of his feet dragging along the floor as he’s carried between two of the others. Where’s he being carried off too? It’s never good, being carried is never good, is he going into ADS again? Cryo? The alien fighting pits?

“I’ll go get Dark.”

“Don’t shoot him.”

“Ha-ha, Illy. My dateshot him, so suck on that.”

“Okay, uh… what do we do now?”

“He feels kinda hot. I’ll grabs 'im a towel?”

“As good idea as any, I guess. I’ll unzip his suit? Yeah, I’ll unzip his suit. Illinois, do you know anything about how heartrates are supposed to be?”

“Not a thing.”

“Maybe don’t say that with the same tone as you’d use bragging about your muscles, m'kay? Great.Just uh… I don’t know. I don’t know!”

“I’ve dealt with fevers before, though. Very common, on jungle, and… desert, adventures. His eyes are ah, still open, too. So eye drops, probably.”

“Oh, I’ve got some of those right here! Y/N said there’d be no need foreye drops on a heist,but I said you never know when you might need them, especially when you wear contacts-”

Oh, his eyes feel better. Less sore. Is that good? He’s still not sure where he is. His body feels like lead. Like a corpse. He knows all too well what it feels like to be a corpse. Did he die again? Why hasn’t he woken up yet then?

Oh, his head hurts… thinkinghurts… why’re his thoughts so loud…

“I’s got some cool water and a cloth thing, lemme at 'is forehead. I’ll cool that fucker right down.”

“Um… it’s not a fight?”

“Whadda youse think bein’ sick is?It’s a fight in your body!”

“… He’s not wrong.”

“Shut up, Mr. Collects Cursed Idols.”

“And you’re any better.”

“I didn’t know the box was cursed before taking it! Doesn’t count!”

“Ahem.”

“AH!”

“Out of the way, Heist. You found him in the hallway?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Unresponsive.”

“Thank you for letting me know, Date. Again. Space? Mark? Can you hear me?”

Guh… that ringing… … It’s… almost comforting, actually. In a weird way.

“Let me have the cloth, Yancy. You can all go. It’s best not to crowd him.”

“Okay, Mr. Dark, uh, sir, um-”

“Just go.”

“Yeah, leaving.”

“… You’re lucky they found you. This looks like your worst attack yet. … I understand why you don’t trust any of us. I wouldn’t either. I suppose I passed that down, maybe. … But learn from me. Trying to handle things all on your own… isn’t worth the costs. Even if you think it’s for the best, things… slip out of control.”

It’s hard to trust, after The Wormhole.

But when he wakes up with less of a headache than he’s had after his other attacks, and his eyes not burning and cry and crusty, and his body with minimal ache…

… Maybe it’s worth learning to trust again.

We’ll Meet Again

“Who throws sand?!”

The Captain sprints for the control panel, hesitating. They don’t know how to work this thing, Mark didn’t even know how to work it before he built the damn thing, or-or after, or in-between? No, no, they need to focus, what did he do when he turned it on-

“NO!”

The go flyingback, the breath knocked out of them by Mark throwing his entire bodyweight against them. they knock over a small table of tools, the sounds of metal falling against metal rattling around in their head as it hits the ground hard.If they didn’t already have a concussion from the fire hydrant, they certainly do now.

Mark gets up first, straddling over them and stopping them from being able to get up. They try to go for more pocket sand, but he pins their hand. “Don’t you get that I’m trying to help?!”

They nod, trying to free their hand with their other one-

“I’m trying to save everything!”

They nod again, but they don’t think he can tell, because they look into his eyes and see nothing but frantic desperation.

“I have to fix it! You understand, right? You’ve been through all of this, you-you know what’s at stake!Why are you trying to stop me?!”

They dig their nails into his arm but his sleeves are thick, and when they look back into his eyes they knowhe’s not seeing them anymore, they know he’s just seeing A Traitor, A Monster, A Problem-

Mark sees The End Of Everything, laying right beneath him, trying to end all of existence. And they are clawing at him, trying to get up, trying to destroy the thing he’s spent lifetimesrebuildingjust to stop them and they’re trying to stop him but he needs to stop them they’re trying to stop him but HE NEEDS TO STOP THEM-

“I’M GOING TO GO BACK!”

Blind, blind rage, one goal, one goal at the end of the tunnel, Stop The Captain, Stop The Captain, Stop The Captain, STOP THE CAPTAIN

His hands find something to the side, that something goes somewhere, The Captain lurches beneath him and their eyes go wide, a gurgling sound coming out of their mouth but all Mark can hear is the roaring in his ears and the roaring of that stupid wormhole and all he can see is the end of the tunnel the goal the determination the red-

He pulls his arm back hard and feels something warm splash his chest but it’s such a distant feeling and it doesn’t matter, none of this matters, but he’ll make it matter, he’ll fix it and things will matter again because he can fix everything he can fix everything he can fix he can fix and The Captain The Captain The Captain-

“I’M GOING TO FIX THINGS AND YOU CAN’T STOP ME!”

Shng

Squrp

Ghssh

Their hand doesn’t make it to the gaping hole in their neck before it goes limp.

Mark stays over them for a moment, panting, eyes wide and wild, waiting for the retaliation but they don’t make a move, not one, they-

They… aren’t…

“Captain?” His voice shakes, adrenaline still pumping. He goes to slap them in the face, wake them updon’t wake thecaptain don’t wake the captain don’t wake the captain- and as he pulls his hand away something comes with it-

BLUP

Bloodshoot out everywhere.The stench makes Mark reel away, gagging, jostling the still-unmoving Captain as blood- blood- blood-

Blood on his hands.

He drops the pliers, chest heaving as they clatter to the floor and bits of flesh and muscle and tendons fall off from the impact. They’re open, wideopen, they-they ripped- the hole in The Captain’s neck, ripped open wide-

He ripped their throat open.

Mark stumbles back another few steps. The wound stops spraying blood. Now it just… blurblesout, big fat globs rolling down and pooling, pooling, around The Captain, around their-their-

Mark throws up.

He sits there, surrounded by blood and vomit, staring at the cor- The Captain. They… they’re so… still.

So still.

With all the chaos around them, Mark’s forgotten that he and they could be still.

He doesn’t know when he gets up to kneel by them. But when The Wormhole opens, that’s where he is. Kneeling in the blood, holding their hand as he shakes.

They’ll be back. They will. He’ll go through The Wormhole, and they’ll be there too, getting aboard the ship. They will. He’ll see them again.

He’ll look them right in the eye and shake their hand… knowing he drove a pair of pliers through their ribs and their throat. He’ll shake their hand, having never actually washed his own of their blood.

… He can’t think of another life he’s lived where he did something like this.

Not to The Captain. Not so… brutal.

…

“I’ll see you soon, Captain. I’ll stop you. I promise.”

He gets up, climbs on top of the core, and throws himself in.

He wakes up. He gets aboard, and waits.

And… waits.

… Waits.

…Waits.

He stops Celci in the hall. “Hey. When’s The Captain coming aboard?”

“Captain? Mark, stop messing around.”

“What?”

“Are you just looking for a way to brag about your autopilot system again?”

“But-”

Celci walks away.

Mark goes to the docking bay and waits.

Waits.

Waits.

Waits.

The Captain never arrives.

The Captain.

Never.

ARRIVES.

But The Wormhole does.

And when Mark gets back to the Warp Core… there they are.

Laying still in a puddle of long-dried blood.